Even Now
by Rin22
Summary: When Woody must return home, he has to call on the one person he trusts to help find the truth...even if it kills them. WJ Rating for later chapters: violence. FINISHED
1. Elevators Are Awkward

**All right, friends, another trip down story lane. This ended up going in a totally different direction than I planned, but I like it better this way. As interesting as the psyche of Jordan is, I like to explore Woody a bit to give him more of a reason for being the way he is. I think he is a surface character on the show, and I want the damn surface to be scratched! I'll try to balance the two, though. Ok, 'nough chatter…story! Go!**

**…right after the Disclaimer: …you know what I was thinking? How funny would it be if I actually did own Crossing Jordan? Sitting here, trying out story lines on the fanfiction readers. Lol. Good joke, right? Ahhh, that would be cool. But I don't. So I lay claim to none of the creations, nor the other copyrighted material that I may choose to use from here on out.**

**R&R and above all ENJOY!**

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**Elevators Are Awkward**

Three months.

It had been three months since that awful day when a bullet had found its way through the Kevlar and ripped through his body. Three months of surgeries, medication, and painful physical therapy. Three months in which the best friend he had in the world was the evening shift nurse, Eden. The middle-aged woman had taken it upon herself to make sure he did not retreat into a surly, helpless individual. She recognized the signs of a person who was giving up on life, who felt like they had nowhere else to turn. She told him she had seen plenty of cases like him go through the hospital. She wasn't about to let him be her first failure.

Eden had succeeded for the most part in her quest to get him back on track. She was with him all through his recovery, an unfailing pillar of support. He may have acted cranky to the rest of the staff, but he was at least close to his old self when she came around. He was not allowed to give up. It was as simple as that as far as Eden was concerned. Especially since the surgeries and the therapy had given him the use of his legs back. No matter that the process was excruciating.

Other than Eden, he really did not have too many other people to talk to on a friendly level. His precinct buddies tried to drop by once a week at least. But if there were an unusually high number of cases, he was often a last priority for them. He told himself he understood. Santana and Sealy kept him updated on the goings on in the homicide department. He made it through several weeks without hearing the one name he knew would come up eventually. On one visit, Santana had slipped and started talking about a case she was working on with Jordan. The moment the name was spoken, she froze and looked apologetically at Woody.

"Whatever," he had grumbled. "We're homicide, she's an ME. It crosses paths."

He didn't hear the name again for weeks from anybody.

Two weeks out of the hospital, Woody had not even crossed the morgue's path yet, let alone Jordan's. Then again, he hadn't been given much chance. Expecting to be placed at a desk once he returned, he was surprised to be met with a promotion. His duties were more along the lines of supervising, which still involved more deskwork than he was used to, but at least he was involved on cases. It was pretty obvious they didn't want him on the streets, though.

Woody accepted his new position sitting down. That's how he had been handling most things since the shooting. He called it a new perception of reality. Santana called him a lethargic dumbass.

He knew she was right. He just didn't care.

He didn't really care about a lot of things these days. When news got around that he could walk again, most people were shocked to find that he wasn't overjoyed. They couldn't understand why he would be so apathetic about being given another chance at life. The truth was, he had pushed away his last remaining reason for living. Which was why he had been grateful to avoid the morgue. To avoid her. Until now.

Woody tried to make the short walk from the precinct to the morgue as long as possible. He had some paperwork he needed to discuss with Garret, but the ME was swamped and told Woody if he needed to talk then he better haul his ass over to the morgue for once. Garret could not leave his work unattended, seeing as how he was under scrutiny since being given his job back. Most of the morgue staff had visited Woody briefly in the hospital. He guessed their lack of visits was partly Jordan's doing. He gathered enough to catch onto the fact that she was being extremely possessive of them and not condoning their visits at all. Not that he minded. It was one less thing to remind him of her.

Seeing Jordan again was something he had been dreading for reasons beyond what most people guessed. Word of their fallout had spread like wildfire. Some of his friends sided with him, trying to bolster his spirits by agreeing that Jordan was, and always had been, a tease, that she had strung him along for too long. Everyone figured the obvious: that he was too angry to see her. But, to be honest, Woody felt embarrassed to a certain extent. In his self-pitying state, he was almost looking forward to proving that he was right when the doctors would diagnose him as a cripple. He looked forward to rubbing it in her face, making her feel guilty. Making her hurt, just like he had been hurt so many times. He longed to see the pity and remorse in her face, proving that her words had only been said because she felt sorry for him.

Only now there was a tiny glitch in his glorious plan – he was walking.

Woody arrived at the morgue building much sooner than he would have liked. He hesitated for just a moment before setting his jaw and pushing the door open. He walked quickly through the lobby and straight onto an empty elevator, punching the floor of the morgue. The doors were about to close when he heard someone call out.

"Hold the door!"

Sticking his hand between the doors, he heard the footsteps outside slow from a run. The doors slid open again, and Woody found himself face to face with Jordan. She froze in place, her eyes widening slightly. He could see her debating on whether or not to acknowledge his existence.

"You know what, I…I'll wait for the next one," she said evenly after a few seconds.

"Don't be ridiculous," he said, his tone low. He was seriously considering letting her wait, but reminded himself that they could not avoid each other forever. "Get in."

Her eyes flashed at him, angered at his choice of words. They were just a little too close to the last words she had heard him say to her. He continued to hold the elevator, waiting for her to make a decision. Finally, she stepped forward and stood as far as possible from him inside the elevator. The doors slid shut, effectively trapping them. Woody snuck a glance at Jordan when he was sure she wasn't looking. She looked good. He didn't really know what he was expecting to see when he saw her again. Tired eyes, no make up, messy hair, baggy clothes? As sadistic as it sounded, it would have satisfied him to see her fall apart over losing him. No such luck.

Jordan looked like Jordan. Maybe even better. Buttercup yellow tank top with a plunging v-neck, stylish jeans, high heeled boots. Her hair looked like it had grown, spilling down her back in soft waves and curls. Was it his imagination, or did she have a tan?

The elevator ride was a silent one, giving him time to muddle over her seemingly perfect appearance. Jordan stared firmly ahead of her, still as stone. Woody began to feel like he should say something just to break the silence. Fortunately, the bell dinged, announcing their arrival at the morgue. As the doors opened onto the busy floor, Jordan glanced at him.

"Glad you're okay," she said quietly, bolting out of the elevator the second the words were out of her mouth.

Woody watched her go, unable to render a thank you.

"Well that couldn't have been more awkward," he muttered to himself before heading over to Garret's office.


	2. I Hope You're Happy

**I Hope You're Happy**

_Why the hell did I get on that f-ing elevator?_ Jordan scolded herself. She felt like sinking into the floor the moment she looked into those blue eyes again. Those gorgeous blue eyes that made her want to do unseemly things to him as much as she wanted to scream at him. She shook her head and tried to gain control over her nerves again, slinging her black bag onto her desk and pulling out all the files she needed. The ways in which she had been thinking about him recently had been unsettling. There was no denying her physical attraction to him in the past. But now, thoughts that she would not have dared to utter in a confessional were cropping into her psyche. Thoughts that were keeping her up at night, making her wish she still believed in one night stands just to satisfy the ache that Woody left inside of her. Although no amount of mindless physicality would ever fully satisfy that.

Why was it that the second he made her walk away, he suddenly became the most irresistible object in the universe? The last three months had taken Jordan through different stages of losing him, starting with a few days of private emotional breakdown that she was not particularly proud of. She had hidden the full extent of her pain from everyone. In her initial state of shock and grief, she tried to deny what was happening by throwing herself into work. She acted as Garret's champion, becoming obsessed with clearing his name until the review board finally agreed to a trial period just to get rid of her.

"You finally used the power of annoyance for good," Garret joked upon his return.

After his reinstatement as Chief ME, Jordan's life began to settle into its normal routine once again. The more normal it became, the more time she had to allow her mind to drift to thoughts of Woody. And the more she thought about him, the angrier she became. How dare he question the sincerity of her feelings! Well if he was going to behave like an immature idiot, then she was glad to be rid of him. She didn't have time to waste on someone who was acting so sullen. It was at this point that Jordan recognized she was working through the stages of loss: grief, denial, anger…but something funny happened after anger. Somehow, she skipped right over acceptance and jumped straight into desire. And, although she was no psychologist, she had an inkling that desire was not a piece of the loss puzzle. At least, not the kind of desire she was feeling.

Jordan reached out for a pen, forcing herself to focus on the waiting paperwork. She needed a cold shower.

* * *

"Dr. Macy, there are only a few small things that I need to go over, would you please just-"

"And I already told you I have too many things to handle right now to stop and check on an autopsy I didn't do," Garret cut Woody off. "Did you even read the report?"

"Yes, but-"

"Then you should know that the acting ME was Jordan," he snapped. "Now, I don't know what bad blood there is between you two; frankly, I don't want to know. But we all have jobs to do, so make an attempt to deflate your ego and go talk to the ME on the case!"

With that, Garret turned his back on Woody and continued sorting through his files. Woody stood in shock for a moment. Things were simply refusing to go his way today. He bit down a temptation to swear and turned on his heel to leave the office. He walked determinedly down the hall towards Jordan's office, thankful not to be met by anyone he knew. Once he reached her door, he paused. He wasn't sure where to start when he walked in there. Their disastrous encounter this morning had taken care of the first public run in. But now he had to find out if they could handle a private meeting. About a case. She might not give him the chance to say anything at all. Cursing his bad luck, he rapped on the door.

"Come in," she called out.

Woody closed his eyes and said a silent prayer. He then pushed the door open and stepped inside. Jordan looked up from her desk and blinked in surprise.

"Macy sent me to you to go over a few things on the Kefner case," he said, his voice forcing professionalism.

Jordan pointed to the door with her pen. "Would you mind closing the door? It's noisy." Her voice echoed his businesslike tone.

"No thanks, I'd prefer to leave it open for witnesses," he bit the words out before he could stop himself.

Jordan stared at him with a look that wavered between annoyance and anger. He knew he was acting childish, trying to pick a fight with her. _Well, she deserves it_, he thought. Instead of arguing, Jordan turned her attention back to the file in front of her and haughtily began writing again. Woody knew he had not been dismissed, but neither had he been given permission to stay. He felt a sudden wave of frustration towards her. Knowing he had to get the report filed, he did the only thing he could do: he swung the door shut and sat down in the chair opposite her, tossing the file on top of her work. Jordan froze as the file sent a sudden gust of air in her face as it landed. She calmly stopped what she was doing and opened the Kefner file.

"What would you like to know, Detective?" she asked smoothly.

Woody clenched his teeth. _Detective_, he thought. _That's nice, Jordan_.

"You're absolutely positive the bullet entered at a 22 degree angle," he grilled her. Jordan nodded. "Which implies the shooter was below him?" Again, Jordan nodded. "Most likely on the ground?"

"The angle of the shot implies an upward trajectory concurrent with a shot from a ground level location," she rattled off the facts. "Leading one to think it was done in self defense from a cowering position, if you had been there for the initial autopsy, you would have known this."

Woody glared at her. She kept her eyes level with his, not even surrendering a blink or two. Her eyes gave him the message loud and clear: the game was on. He knew her well enough to recognize when she was challenging someone. She was letting him know that she was not backing down. Not exactly the reaction her wanted from her. Woody stood up and leaned over the desk to grab the file.

"That's all I needed," he said, straightening back up.

"I hope you're happy, then," she said, forcing a small smile.

"Yeah, you too," he said coolly, walking away from her desk and opening the door to leave.

"Detective Hoyt, would you be kind enough to close the door?" she called after him, her eyes never leaving her work. Woody spared a final scathing glance at her before shutting the door forcefully.

Only after he was gone did Jordan allow her face to drop its neutral mask, her eyes looking after him. It nearly killed her to do that. But Woody had made his feelings perfectly clear to her that day in the hospital, and no amount of want on her part would ever change that. He had given up on her long before that, she was sure. She simply had to get used to things being this way. They still had to work with each other, after all, and there was no point befuddling the situation. It was easier to act as though she wasn't feeling anything. That way, at least, she didn't have the chance to hope. But if he insisted on wearing that to-die-for cologne every time he came through here, she was going to run into trouble. Jordan dropped her head into her hands despondently. There would be no sleep for her tonight.

* * *

The next two weeks found Jordan and Woody working together more than they expected. Lily and Sydney were answering for Sealy now, while Garret needed Nigel and Bug at his beckon call. Slocum had put in a bad word for Jordan upon his departure, letting the DA know that she almost aided Garret's cover up. It was generally agreed that Jordan should not be assisting Garret more than she needed to. This left her to answer Woody's calls on homicide. Their subsequent meetings did not fair much better than the first. Woody was still inwardly infuriated by Jordan's unconcerned attitude. He felt it was further proof that she never cared deeply for him in the first place. Jordan, meanwhile, was still fighting back her growing emotions for him that were only fueled by his presence.

Yet, through all this, they managed to work as successfully together as they always had. There may have been more snide comments on his part and more cool professionalism on hers, but the chemistry of solving cases was still there. Woody felt this acutely. He also began to feel the missing element of their working together – their friendship. He never thought he would miss it so much. It was the most solid relationship he had before the shooting. Nearly four months without that stability was starting to wear on him. He could swear he would catch her looking at him with the same look in her eyes she had had so many times before their lives had drifted apart; severed, really. It confused him.

Today had been one of those days for Woody. He and Jordan had been called on an apparent homicide that actually turned out to be an inconveniently positioned heart attack. At some point during the day, he glanced up and caught her staring at him. She turned away quickly, but not before he had seen her with her mask down. He saw the sorrow and regret that he had longed to triumphantly point out. Only, it did not feel quite so glorious as he planned to catch her in the vulnerable moment.

Woody sat in his kitchen nursing a beer, thinking about that moment, trying to figure out what exactly he was attempting to accomplish with her. Jordan wasn't allowing him to behave like the wounded individual that he wanted to. For two weeks, she never gave him the chance. Now, today, it just didn't seem right. Why the hell wasn't she falling apart? And why couldn't he bring himself to celebrate the small victory of seeing her show her emotions? His attempts at a grudge were failing.

His phone rang shrilly, startling him out of his thoughts. He answered it with a gruff, "Hello?"

"Hey, Woody, it's Michael Foster," the voice on the other end said.

"Mikey?" Woody registered who it was. Michael had gone to school with Woody in Wisconsin. He was now sheriff of Kewaunee. Woody's first thought was that something had happened to Cal. Michael's next words did nothing to dispel his fears.

"I'm afraid I've got some bad news, Wood."


	3. There's No Place Like It

**'K, this is where I start taking liberties with Woody's back story, and for this I ask your forgiveness (especially if the show contradicts any little details that I may come up with, but que sera sera).**

**There's No Place Like It**

"Uh, I'm sorry to have to tell you this, buddy, but your uncle David died."

Woody closed his eyes and let out the breath he had been holding. It wasn't Cal. Not that he was glad that his uncle died. He was just relieved that Cal hadn't gotten himself killed.

"When did they find him?" he asked Michael.

"Around six this evening," he said. "They're waiting to remove the body until you get here. Something about family rights."

"Oh," Woody said, surprised. "Uh, Mike, I hadn't really planned on coming home when this happened. My dad and David hadn't been on very good terms…"

"Yeah, I know," Michael said in understanding. "I think the whole town knew they hadn't talked in years. But…well, Woods, he left everything in your name."

Woody's mouth dropped open. Aside from Christmas cards, he had not talked to his uncle in nearly ten years. His father had cut ties with him when Woody was still a kid, and they never saw much of David after that. Woody never found out exactly what had happened between them. He and Cal were the last living relatives David had. In a way, it made sense that he would leaves things to one of them. Woody's eyes suddenly grew wide. _But that means…_

"Did he leave me the ranch?"

"Yes he did," Michael said.

Woody dropped his head into his hand and rubbed at the headache that was threatening his temples. Working out his uncle's will was something he was loathe to do at the moment. It was going to be impossible to handle something like that from Boston. He sighed in frustration.

"I'll be on the first plane in the morning," he said.

* * *

Woody met no resistance at the precinct when he asked for a few days off to sort out a family issue. He got some rather strange looks from the other detectives. They seemed surprised to hear him speak of family in general, let alone one that was worth taking time off for. He knew they suspected it had something to do with Cal, and Woody was grateful that Cal's involvement in the Albanian mob was still a secret. The shame he felt about him could not have been worse, even if it was made public. He hated what Cal had done, acting against everything Woody stood for, putting people's lives in danger…putting Jordan in danger.

Woody gave his head a shake at the thought, looking out of the window of the airplane to distract himself. It always came back to Jordan somehow. No matter what he was thinking about, his subconscious would connect it to her. He told himself that it was only because they had been working together so much lately. Nothing more. _So why do you keep losing sleep over her?_

Shutting his mind off to all thoughts of the woman who seemed to only want to give him grief, he closed his eyes and tried to rest for the remainder of the flight. All too soon, they were touching down in Green Bay. Woody rented a car and began the drive east to his hometown. He quickly left the city behind him and started to take in the Wisconsin country landscape that had occupied his youth. He saw familiar landmarks: a barn along the interstate that was still painted an atrocious shade of orange, a tree that was long ago split in half by a lightening storm, and a large boulder that people thought looked like an elephant.

Turning onto interstate 29, Woody began to lose himself in the countryside. By the time the houses of Kewaunee made their first appearance, it was nearing late afternoon. He opened the windows of the car to allow the air to refresh him. The air was certainly cooler here than in Boston. Sweeter than he remembered. Pulling onto Ellis Street, he noted that not much had changed since his last visit. It pleased him, in a way. At least some things stayed constant. He quickly found his way to the police station and pulled in front of the familiar building. He paused before getting out of his car and, after a moment of contemplation, opted to don a pair of sunglasses. He felt like a stupid movie star, avoiding people, but he was in no hurry to be stopped and caught up in a gossipy conversation with people who still thought of him as twelve years old.

Making a beeline for the station, he marched straight over to the front desk. The station was behind the times, and short on space. It did not really seem to matter, though. Woody only saw one person in there, anyway: a large, blonde man sitting back in his chair, snacking on Doritos. The man sat up when Woody approached him, wiping the orange residue off his fingers.

"What can I do ya for, son?" he asked Woody jovially.

"I'm looking for Michael Foster," Woody said, taking off the sunglasses.

"Well I'll be," the man's grin grew wider. "If it isn't Woodrow Hoyt! How you doin,' boy?"

The man stuck his hand out, and Woody took it more out of manners than anything else. He eyed the man for a minute before a name came to him.

"Chuck Bentley, how are you?" he asked casually. He had received more than one black eye from Chuck as a boy. Chuck's father used to coach their little league team.

"Not bad, not bad," Chuck said. "Looking for Mike, huh? Must be about your uncle. My sympathies."

"Thanks. Is he around?" Woody hurried him.

"Oh yeah," Chuck seemed to snap to. "One second," he said as he disappeared behind a door. A few minutes later, Chuck returned with Mike in tow. Mike was a little shorter than Woody with a similar build, and if it hadn't been for a darker coloring on Mike's part, they could have passed for brothers. Mike enthusiastically shook Woody's hand.

"It's great to see you again, Wood," he said. "Just wish it could be under better circumstances."

"Well, what're you gonna do," Woody said. He flicked the shiny sheriff's badge on Mike's uniform. "Nice little trinket you got there. Done well for yourself."

"Not as good as Detective for the Boston PD, but it'll do," Mike smiled warmly. The smile wavered for a second as he continued. "You ready to go then?"

"Yeah," Woody said quickly. "Let's go."

David had taken over the family ranch outside of town, but it had long since lost its original purpose. A few cows still dotted the land, but David focused mainly on horse breeding from what Woody had heard over the years. In fact, David chose to live in the small guesthouse at the back of the property, nearer to the stables. The main house he rented occasionally as a vacation home, but it was vacant at the moment. Mike directed Woody to the driveway the led to the guesthouse and they parked and got out. The coroner's van was already waiting for them.

Woody felt oddly normal as he entered the house with the others following. It wasn't so much that his job had made him immune to the situation as he was starting to fell this was his lot in life. He was about to identify and bury one of his last remaining relatives. The scenario was becoming all too familiar.

The group was quiet as they walked into the bedroom where David lay upon the bed. He looked at peace to Woody. He stood at the bedside for a minute, not really thinking of anything. Maybe a little about mortality. He then looked up at the coroner and his assistant and gave them a nod.

"Go ahead," he said calmly.

The two men took over then, taking brief notes on the situation. From the looks of things, David had died naturally in his sleep. They set the gurney up next to the bed and gently lifted the body. That was when Woody first noticed the large, dark red stain on the sheets.

"Whoa, whoa," he exclaimed, and the others saw what he was looking at. The coroner quickly looked under the body to find the source.

"Oh shit," he said worriedly.

Woody followed his gaze and saw a black knife handle protruding from David's back. He echoed the coroner's words and covered his mouth with his hands. He felt Mike's hand on his back, supporting him.

"Jesus," Mike whispered, making Woody turn away. Woody allowed Mike to steer him towards the doorway and out into the hall.

"Oh my God," Woody let out a shaky breath, trying not to look as they wheeled David out of the room. "You reach a point when you think it doesn't bother you anymore."

"This is different, Woody," Mike told him.

"I've seen so much worse," he went on, knowing full well why it was different.

"Doesn't matter," Mike said. "Nothing ever prepares you for something like that. I mean, he's your uncle for Christ's sake, however estranged he was."

"Yeah," Woody finally agreed. "I know." He headed towards the front door, closely followed by Mike. "This place needs to be totally examined. Make sure they look at him thoroughly."

Woody could feel his 'detective with a vengeance' side coming through. He realized he was going on a power trip and was probably stepping on Mike's toes. But he was not about to let this happen to him again. His father may not have gotten the justice he deserved, but he sure as hell was not going to sit by and let the same thing happen to David. Not while he could do something about it.

"Woody, don't worry, we've got it covered," Mike told him as they walked back outside. The van was just driving off, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake. "First priority, really. Look, you got a place to stay tonight? 'Cause Linda and I wouldn't mind if you stayed with us."

"Actually I had planned on staying here," Woody explained. Mike looked at him, trying to figure out if Woody was in shock. "In the main house," Woody said at the look on his face. He would be an idiot to stay in the guesthouse after what he had just seen.

"Woody this is an insecure crime scene."

"Yeah, I know what it is."

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather…" Mike trailed off at the set look on his friend's face.

"I wouldn't want to impose on your family," Woody said firmly. Mike stared at him, his hands on his hips.

"Well the Inn at least-"

"Does Sarah Bennet still own it?"

"Yeah."

"She charges too much."

Mike looked hard at him. This was not the same Woodrow who had left Kewaunee years ago. It was not even the same Woodrow who had visited from time to time, joining the gang for drinks and a game of pool in the bar, taking boat trips out on Lake Michigan. The carefree Woody was gone. Boston had hardened him. Mike shook his head and sighed.

"Whatever you say, Woody," he said gruffly. He tromped past him across the gravel driveway towards the car. "Drive me back to the station. We'll get a team out here before it gets dark."


	4. Can I Help You?

**Can I Help You?**

After the initial rush of the fight for justice wore off, Woody began to feel embarrassed about the way he had acted towards Mike. Fortunately, he had perfected his ability to cover up embarrassment with a snippy attitude thanks to a certain ME. He knew he was pulling an act as the hotshot detective from Boston when they returned to the crime scene. It was not really intentional. He was simply doing what he always did; but he knew it came off as cocky. He distinctly heard one of the cops say something about Woody growing too big for his Kewaunee britches. At the end of a very unsuccessful investigation, Woody tried to apologize to Mike as the department headed out.

"Don't think on it," Mike said, though he did not really sound like he meant it.

Woody spent the next two hours unpacking, getting reacquainted with the house he had not been in since he was eighteen, and making arrangements for someone to look in on the horses. It had been a long time since Woody had looked after horses, and the little he remembered would not do to take care of six, two of them Thoroughbred breeding stallions. Just the thought made him nervous. After he was settled, he had nothing to do but wait for the call from Mike. Around eight thirty, the phone rang. The news was not encouraging.

"I'm sorry, Woody, but whoever did this was clean about it," Mike told him apologetically. "We couldn't find a thing."

"What about the body, did they trace anything?" Woody asked.

"The morgue closed for the night about two hours ago, but last I heard they were drawing blanks."

"Great," Woody grumbled. "Do me a favor, would you Mike? Tell them to trace everything they find, anything that's out of place, and call me tomorrow."

"I'll let 'em know. But I gotta tell you, Woody, anything there was to find they woulda found it by now."

Woody felt like throwing the phone into the wall after he hung up. The coroner had spent maybe two lousy hours at the most on his uncle and then clocked out to get home to a warm meal. This would never have happened in Boston. If Jordan were here, she would have stayed all night until she found something. He laughed at the irony of his thought. For once, having Jordan in his life would actually make it easier. His smile faded as he realized what he might have to do to get this case solved. Jordan might make it easier, but he had a feeling he would not be thanking himself later.

* * *

The next day dawned clear and chilly. Autumn was slowly creeping its way into the lakeside community. Woody got up and felt the need to release his pent up energy. He took off for a run along the expansive ranch property. It was a lot more beautiful than he remembered. He returned an hour later, winded. He still was not used to very much physical activity. Pouring himself a bowl of cereal, he made a mental note to go to the store if he intended on eating something other than Easy Mac while he was there. He wasted an hour getting dressed, and then decided he couldn't wait around any longer. Jumping into his car, he drove back over to the station.

"I don't know what to tell ya," Mike said regretfully as they sat in his office. "The whole thing is clean. They couldn't find a damn thing."

"What about the weapon? There has to be some kind of serial number you can trace."

"Woody, the coroner did the best he could. But we're not the Boston Morgue with fancy equipment. Maybe you've forgotten, but we're a town with a population of two thousand; haven't had a murder in close to ten years, and that was unintentional manslaughter. The biggest crime we've had to deal with this year was some high school kids trying to lift cows onto the roof of the school as a senior prank," Mike looked at him meaningfully. Woody glanced away, humbled. "Now I know that you're used to high tech methods. But if that's what you want, then you're going to have to bring someone in. Other than that, the only thing I can tell you is to just let it go."

Woody sighed and stared at the oak desk. This was turning into a huge mess, far more complicated than he ever anticipated.

"Thanks for trying, Mike," he said. "I appreciate it."

Leaving the station feeling more frustrated than ever, Woody walked the short distance to the end of Ellis Street. He crossed through the aging picket fence and onto the beach of Lake Michigan. He picked up a rock and heaved it towards the water, then sat down on the pebbly ground.

He could leave things at this. Go back to Boston and just accept that this was horrible and unfortunate, but his uncle had been getting on in years anyway. It wouldn't have been very long before his time came. Woody dismissed the thought with disgust. However removed David had been from the family, he was still just that – family. Woody hadn't spent years as a cop just to turn his back on a family member who fell victim to a crime.

But he was not able to do this alone. Pulling out his phone, he stared at the screen for a long time, arguing with himself. _Just call her. You know she's the only one who will drop everything to help you. Lose the attitude and call her_. He wasn't so sure she would drop everything for him anymore, but he had to try. Swallowing his pride, Woody hit 1 on his speed dial.

Her phone rang just long enough to worry him. This was only the second time he had called her cell phone in the last few weeks, and the first time it had been about a case. He was trying to keep their relationship as professional as possible by sticking to her office phone. Having left her a note saying he was going home for a few days, she had to suspect that this was not a business call. It stung to think that she would screen his calls. Finally, she picked up.

"Well, if it isn't Holden Caulfield."

"Very funny, Jordan."

"How are things in cowboy country?"

"Not too good," Woody hesitated. "I…I need your help."

"I'm sorry, what?" she asked incredulously after a moment.

"I need your help," he repeated. He then filled her in on all that had happened since arriving in Kewaunee. Jordan listened in silence, giving him the respect of a friend.

"Woody, I'm sorry," she said quietly when he finished. "What can I do?"

"I need someone here to do what the local coroner couldn't," Woody said. He rubbed at his eyes, not quite able to ask her outright. "I need your expertise."

Jordan did not say anything for a moment. Woody felt his heart sink a little. He had been right to doubt her loyalty to him. Not that he expected any different.

"Wouldn't it be better if you just sent me what I needed?" she asked finally.

"That's just it. There's nothing to send, really," he explained. "You've always said the answers are there, you just have to know where to look…would you come?"

"Do you think that's such a good idea, Woody?" she said tentatively.

"We've been working together all right-"

"Barely."

Woody placed his hand over his mouth, working against the urge to fight with her. The last thing he needed to do was make her angry. "I've got no one else to turn to, Jordan."

Again, he was met with a deafening silence. What he said was true. If Jordan did not agree to this, he could not think of anyone else to call on. He had not right to guilt trip her into helping him, playing on what she owed him for all the times he went on a limb for her. He just hoped that she could find some reason to do this for him. Woody heard her sigh on the other end.

"I'm going to have to run it by Garret," she mumbled.

Woody smiled. "I think they owe you, like, a year of vacation time." He could practically see her rolling her eyes in a withering look.

"Whatever, Woody. I'll call you when I've got the details."

The phone clicked off to a dial tone before he had a chance to say anything. Woody tucked his phone away and stood up. He had a lot to arrange before Jordan got there.

* * *

_"Don't break any laws while you're there."_

That's all Garret had to say on the matter when Jordan asked to have time off to help Woody. Just told her not to give him a reason to work harder at keeping his job than he already was. Part of Jordan was disappointed. She sort of hoped that he would deny her request and she could avoid the whole situation. Alas, here she was in her office, packing away the last of her paperwork before heading home to grab a suitcase and leave. There was a knock at her door, and Nigel poked his head in.

"I heard that Dr. Cavanaugh is finally taking some vacation time," he smiled at her. "Going to Barbados?"

"I wish," she said. Nigel walked in and took a seat across from her. He stared at her, eyebrows raised, waiting for an explanation. She continued what she was doing, but gave him the cliff notes version of what happened. "Woody's uncle was murdered back in Wisconsin. I guess the authorities there aren't being very helpful. He asked me to give him a hand."

"Excuse me?" Nigel said in disbelief. "Is this the same Woody who told you to walk out of his life forever?"

"He never said that exactly."

"Close enough," Nigel said, surprised at the way she was defending Woody. "Jordan, are you okay with this?"

She hesitated for a second. "We've been working together a lot recently…it's been getting better."

Nigel watched her closely, and she nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She was hoping that she wasn't turning red under his questioning stare. He blinked and sat back in the chair, a thoughtful smile appearing on his lips.

"You want him, don't you?" he said casually.

Jordan's head snapped up, her eyes wide and her mouth working furiously for something to say. Nigel just looked at her smugly. After several seconds had gone by and she still had not formulated a decent argument, Jordan dropped into her chair and buried her face in her hands.

"Oh my God yes," she groaned hopelessly.

"I knew it," Nigel said. "He finally played the friend card for a change, and now you're the one doing the chasing."

Jordan looked at him from between her fingers. "You're not helping. And it's a little more complicated than that."

"Of course it is, love. We all saw what you went through. But now you two have a chance to sort things out."

"No, you don't understand, Nigel," she said worriedly as she leaned over the desk. "Things happen between us when we leave Boston. Things that usually make our relationship more screwed up than it already was. Well, I…you _know_ what's going to happen!"

"And so do you, otherwise you wouldn't be going," he called her bluff. "So let it happen. By the end of this trip, you'll either lay him or leave him."

"Nigel! His uncle was _just_ murdered," she said, shocked. Nigel stood up and looked at her knowingly.

"Grief can be a very strong aphrodisiac."


	5. Chemistry

**Chemistry**

_Stupid Nigel and his stupid advice. As if the thought wasn't already there, now it's all I can think about_.

Jordan dragged her suitcase through the airport, shifting the duffle bag hanging from her shoulder. She had to remind herself that she was there for business first and pleasure, if any, second. Woody was supposed to pick her up near the baggage claim, which was, of course, on the other side of world from her gate. She was glad she hadn't decided to pack anything other than her personal things for carry on. Just when she thought her arm was going to break off, she reached the conveyor belts.

She found a spot near her flight and dropped her bag on the ground, rubbing at where the strap had been digging into her shoulder. Looking around the fairly empty area, she caught sight of Woody walking towards her. He was wearing jeans, a fitting dark green T-shirt, and a tan suede jacket. His hair was falling boyishly over his forehead, not in its usual gelled state. He looked…hot. _God, don't make this easy for me or anything_, she thought.

"Hey," he said when he reached her.

"Hey yourself."

"Good flight?"

"Good enough," she said. He nodded and shifted on his feet, looking a little uncomfortable. She gave him a lopsided grin. "I guess small talk isn't really our forte."

"Haven't really had the chance lately, have we?" he said, returning the grin. He looked towards the luggage that was winding around the conveyor. "Any of this yours?'

"Just the one. It's labeled," she told him. "It has some equipment in it. I had the rest FedEx'd, it should be here tomorrow morning."

"The rest?" he looked at her.

"You ask for my help, you get a traveling morgue," she said as she pointed to a black case that was nearing them. Woody reached out and grabbed the handle as Jordan took hold of her suitcase again. When she went for her duffle bag, Woody quickly reached out and took the strap before she could get to it, slinging the bag over his shoulder.

"I got it," he said, nodding in the direction of the parking garage. Jordan blinked in surprise, one step behind him as he walked away.

"Okay," she said quietly to herself.

The drive back to the house was quick, with the sun setting behind them casting an orange glow over the countryside. Jordan got a canvas view of the fields and trees, just barely touching the colors of fall. It was so open and freeing. By the time Woody pulled off onto the road that led to the ranch, she had not seen a single building that was not a farm house or a barn. She realized that the jokes she had made about her Farm Boy were not all that far from the truth. Woody parked in front of the two-story house and got out to help Jordan with her things.

"Woody, this is…beautiful," she commented, pausing to look at the property.

"Yeah. It is," he said, his face expressionless. "Welcome to Kewaunee, Jordan."

* * *

When Woody awoke the next morning, Jordan was already up. He could hear her downstairs moving things around. He assumed the other boxes of equipment had arrived and she was busy sorting. Deciding to shower before he went downstairs, he made his way to the bathroom. The second he shut the door, he was enveloped by her scent. She had already showered, and the whole room smelled like her. 

Unable to stay his curiosity, Woody pushed back the shower curtain and picked up the bottle of body wash sitting in the tub. Gardenia. _So that's what it is…wait, what the hell am I doing?_

Putting the bottle down quickly, he forced himself to ignore the scent of the flower while he showered, although it was next to impossible. As he walked downstairs, he realized that he had not anticipated how sharing a bathroom with Jordan would stir his mind. He had almost forgotten how wonderful she smelled those rare times when he had held her close. Some things would never change. Woody found Jordan in the front room, rummaging through boxes. She had pulled out some equipment, leaving others.

"Okay, everything sitting over there goes to the guest house," she instructed him. "And the rest goes to the morgue for a second autopsy and to look at the murder weapon."

"You don't waste time, do you?" he commented as he walked past her to the kitchen.

"Only when I need to," she replied. "By the way, have you ever heard of a grocery store?"

Woody stopped in the doorway and grimaced. He had forgotten to buy more food. Turning to face her, he said, "I don't always live like this."

"No big deal," Jordan shrugged. "Just thought I'd remind you."

"Thank you," he said sarcastically. Why was he defending himself to her, anyway? It was not as though he cared what she thought of his living habits. There was no need for her to approve of that, or any other aspect of his life. Not anymore. "Is this stuff ready to go?"

"Sure is. Gimme a hand, would you?"

Woody helped her carry the crime scene equipment over to the guest house and worked with her for several hours while she combed the place. She managed to find a few fibers, and she took samples from the bloody sheets. The fact that all of this had already been done did not seem to phase her. She remained totally focused on the task at hand, determined to find what the others couldn't. Jordan was good, and she knew it. Woody hoped that her confidence would help them find the answers they needed.

When it came time to go to the morgue for the autopsy, Jordan suggested that Woody take the opportunity in town to do some shopping. Woody was surprised at first. Jordan had never dismissed him from an investigation before. Then he understood what she was doing: she was trying to protect him. She did not want him to have to witness the autopsy and was giving him a safe out. He was about to protest, but then thought better of it. He had never been very good with autopsies. And they did need food. After helping her set everything up, he left for the store.

And almost immediately wished he hadn't.

Woody ran into at least a dozen people he knew from years ago. They all expressed their sympathies for David, sounding utterly shocked that such a thing could happen in Kewaunee. They talked as though his own father hadn't been cruelly murdered; but then, people in the small town never had very much tolerance for "laid back" dads who drank too much. Most of them wanted to know how "sweet little Cal" was. And a few commented that "had he perhaps gone a little far in trying to lose that baby weight?"

By the time he rejoined Jordan hours later at the morgue, he was ready to pack it up and go back to Boston. He vented to her while she ran scans on some blood and the knife.

"Try not to let it get to you," she said as she read the information on the screens.

"That's rich, coming from you," he muttered, his arms crossed sullenly over his chest.

"I never said anyone should follow my example," she said, switching the samples for a new scan. "They're probably just envious of the life you've made for yourself. You're a success, cowboy."

Woody snorted, not humored.

"Wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it," she said slightly under her breath, an edge of annoyance to her voice.

He glanced up at her, trying to read her emotionless face. She stayed focused on her work. But that comment…was she trying to tell him what he thought she was? It was the first time he had heard Jordan remotely touch the subject of what had happened between them. Now that he thought about it, she had remained remarkably silent on the subject. He couldn't believe she was breaking into that area now of all times. Pulling his irritation in check, he turned his attention to the case.

"Find anything yet?" he asked curtly.

"Well," she started. "He had a small cut on one hand. I've been trying to locate any traces of separate DNA that might have ended up there. It's the only sign of a struggle on him. Which made sense when I found this mixed in with the dried blood." She turned a computer towards him, and he read the results.

"Ethyl chloride?"

"My guess is the killer was trying to anesthetize him, but he might have pushed against the object that contained the chemical." She mimicked what the struggle might have looked like. "If the cut was open, it could have picked up some of the chemical. The killer may have cleaned the body up later, but by that time the ethyl chloride was already congealing with the blood in his cut," she explained, meeting his eyes. "Unfortunately, that's not much to go on. It's not that hard to buy or produce the right chemicals for ethyl chloride. Anyone whotook high school chemistry could do it."

"What about the knife?" he asked, trying not to let his discouragement show.

"That brings me to computer number two," she led him over to another screen. "There was no label or number to go off of, but I scanned the style and ran a search. The knife is one of a series of hunting knives made for the 'avid outdoorsman' in 1988. It was a limited make, but still sold a lot."

"So you'll just match it to someone, right?" Woody asked. He had seen Nigel do this kind of thing a hundred times.

"The manufacturer does have a list of buyers. That's the good news."

"What's the bad news?"

"This is the list of purchasers in Wisconsin," she said with an apologetic look as she clicked on an attachment. A list of names popped up. There had to be over a hundred buyers. "Without a specific number, I can't narrow it down any farther. The best you can do is go through the list and try to find a connection."

"Unbelievable," Woody grumbled. Jordan dropped her head a little, feeling like she had failed him. He noticed the look. It wasn't a look he saw very often on her face. It suddenly hit him how hard she was trying for him…what she had already done for him. Changing his tone, he said, "Can you print out the list? I'll start looking at it before we leave."

Jordan nodded and busied herself with getting the information. After shutting the equipment down, she left to change into normal clothes while Woody scanned the list of names. She took her time, glad to have an excuse to step away from his presence for a minute or two. His intensity was bringing her dangerously close to saying things she shouldn't. It had taken a huge effort to keep her mouth shut on a subject she had no right bringing up now. She pulled on her jeans, her boots, and her brown scoop-neck shirt and then stood in the locker room for a few moments to ground herself. When she returned to the autopsy room, Woody was just finishing reading the names.

"Recognize anyone?" she asked.

"Not really," he said, putting the list down. "There are one or two last names that might mean something, but other than that…" he trailed off as he walked over to the door, opening it for her.

"We'll find something Woody, it'll be there," she tried to encourage him as she walked past him through the doorway.

"Thanks, Jo," he said, absently reaching out to touch her arm.

His touch nearly caused her breath to catch in her throat. She felt warmth radiate from the spot on her arm. He hadn't touched her in months. She forced herself to keep walking down the hall next to him, maintaining a decent distance. All of a sudden the hallway seemed very small.

Just as they were rounding the corner to leave, Mike appeared, walking in their direction.

"Hey Woody, I was hoping to run into you," he said as he walked up to them. His attention turned to Jordan and a look of interest flashed across his face. "And you must be Jordan Cavanaugh."

"Yeah, I am" she said, smiling and taking his outstretched hand.

"Mike Foster," he introduced himself. "It's nice to finally meet you. Woody's told me a lot about you."

Jordan smiled complaisantly and glanced at Woody. He conveniently avoided her gaze.

"Nothing bad, I assure you," Mike smiled. He looked from one to the other. "You guys done for the day?"

"For now," Jordan answered. "Thank you for allowing me to take over here, I know it's sort of inconvenient."

"Don't worry about it," Mike said. "Hey, since you guys are done, why don't you join me and some others for drinks at The Bucket."

"The Bucket," Woody said with amusement. "That place is still around."

"Oh yeah," Mike said with the same look. Jordan had the distinct feeling she was missing an inside joke. Mike came to her rescue. "Woody was the last of us to turn twenty one, and we decided it would be a great idea to get totally smashed at The Bucket because we could."

"Okay, she doesn't need to hear any more," Woody said quickly, steering Jordan down the hall.

"Oh yes I do," she said, completely amused. She looked expectantly at Mike and he smiled.

"We got 86'd out of the bar, took a walk down to the pier, and Hoyt here pitched headfirst into Lake Michigan in an attempt to toss his cookies," Mike finished to the chagrin of Woody.

Jordan stared open mouthed and wide eyed at Mike before turning slowly to look at Woody. He seemed to be turning about fourteen different shades of red.

"Oh I can't believe you never told me about that," she laughed.

"Yeah, well, I thought I would spare myself the endless teasing," he muttered as they left the morgue.

"Now, I forget, Woods," Mike added with a mischievous grin. "Was that before or after you and Jimmy Reitkirk tried to bull ride a pair of heifers?"

Jordan almost choked laughing as they walked down the street, and the sour look on Woody's face only made it that much funnier.


	6. Cowboy Up

**Sorry it's taking me a while to update, but there's been a lot going on, including getting ready for a new school year. I'll try to be quick about the next few chapters. Ciao!**

**Cowboy Up**

The Bucket was not quite what Jordan expected. She was picturing some rinky-dink little bar filled with bikers, for some reason. When they walked in the door, she was surprised at the spaciousness of the place. A long bar was off to the left, mahogany top matching the maroon stools, dozens of glittering bottles lining the shelves. There were pool tables and darts to the right, and the back of the bar was dominated by a stage set up for a band to play, a huge horseshoe shaped disco ball dangling overhead.

"Friends In Low Places" blared from the jukebox, providing the perfect soundtrack to the atmosphere of country men and women who were scattered throughout the place. She hadn't seen so many Stetsons in one place in her life. Then again, LA and Boston weren't exactly known for their cowboys. Mike led them over to a table occupied by five people.

"This place is called 'The Bucket?'" Jordan asked Woody under her breath.

"Fits the crowd more than the escutcheon, believe me," he told her.

When they reached the table, everyone seemed to know Woody. They all greeted him happily. Jordan assumed they either didn't know the real purpose of his visit, or they knew it was okay to show him a good time in spite of it. She got her answer when she was introduced as an ME from Boston who was helping with the murder investigation. Everyone had grown up with Woody in Kewaunee, and they all seemed very happy to see him again. Mike introduced Jordan to his wife Linda, who promptly showed her some pictures of their four children. In between photos, Jordan looked up at Woody to see him glancing around the bar, looking on edge.

"Oh great," he said just loud enough for only her to hear. He took her by the elbow and turned back to the others. "We're gonna order some drinks. We'll be right back."

He led her quickly over to the bar and leaned against the counter with a disgruntled expression on his face.

"Ooo, nice look," Jordan commented. "What is with you?"

"See the blonde over by the jukebox?" he said, nodding towards the edge of the stage.

Jordan followed his gaze and had to do a double take. The woman was petite with long blonde hair and strong Irish features. If Jordan hadn't known any better, she would have sworn she was looking at Devan. It left a hollow feeling in her stomach.

"Yeah," she finally answered him.

"That would be my senior prom date. Carolyn Hogan," he said. Jordan didn't bother voicing her shock about who the woman bore a strong resemblance to; if Woody hadn't made the connection himself, she was not going to psychoanalyze it for him.

"The one who stood you up?" she asked instead.

"Yup," Woody said. His look of discomfort turned to one of loathing when a well built, golden haired man in jeans, a white button up shirt and a brown Stetson walked up behind Carolyn and playfully smacked her on the rear. "And _that_ would be the guy she stood me up for."

"Ouch," Jordan grimaced. "Something tells me you haven't quite forgiven them."

"It was the only dance I ever bothered trying to go to, what do you think?" he said angrily.

Jordan looked at him in concern. She hated to see so much sadness in his eyes. Her instinct was to wrap her arms around him, to drive away all his pain. It took reminding herself that she was part of that pain to resist the gesture. As much as she wanted him, there had been nothing to prove that he was willing in any way to offer his heart again. She had a lot to make up for. There wasn't that much that separated her from Carolyn, in the long run. Unfortunately, that thought only increased her desire to be the one to comfort him…and then keep him.

Unable to work her way out of the limbo, Jordan remained silent as the bartender brought them their drinks and they made their way back to the table. For a while, she was treated to stories of when Woody and his friends were younger, most of them tamer than what Mike had already shared but no less embarrassing for Woody. They also heard a lot of gossip about former classmates and other general stories about people in the town. The one that seemed to please everyone most was that the head cheerleader of their class got knocked up a few months back from a drunken night with the guy who was always considered the class geek. There was still no word about what was going to happen between them, but some people were placing bets.

The alcohol mixed with the enlivening music and company worked to lift everyone's spirits. Jordan knew that this would only last for so long before the drinks loosened tongues enough to start asking questions. Sure enough, the ignorant curiosity came on the heels of a conversation about a former classmate who had suffered a nervous breakdown.

"He's living with his sister now, apparently," Linda was saying. "She's a trained nurse, so it makes it a little easier, I suppose."

"Christ, poor Peter," their friend Gavin said. "'Course, he's not the first one. Kewaunee drives us all over the edge at least once."

"Some more than others," Gavin's girlfriend elbowed him in the ribs with a smile, eliciting a laugh from the others.

"Hey Woods, how's Calvin doing?" Mike asked after the laughter died down.

Jordan's heart jumped and she glanced at Woody. His grip tightened on the beer bottle, but his face did not betray a single emotion. This was not unexpected for him. After all, he had already met people's inquiries. It was only natural for people to ask. Everyone knew how Woody had sacrificed for his brother, struggling to maintain a family that was cruelly destroyed over the years. If they only knew…

"Cal's just the same as always," Woody said through a thin smile. It was such an evasive statement, but it was all they wanted to hear.

"What's he doing now?" Linda asked.

"Independent business," Woody said before taking a drink.

This seemed to satisfy his friends. They smiled and nodded their approval, surely thinking that that was just like Cal to start something of his own. Woody picked at the label of his bottle. When did it get to the point when he had to lie to the people who had once been his best friends? When did his family become something he had to brush under the rug? He looked up at Jordan and caught her watching him carefully. It got his back up a little, and he felt a familiar wall forcing its way into place. He did not like being caught powerless by her, and the one thing he felt when it came to Cal was powerless. _Don't you dare pity me, Jordan_.

"How's the murder investigation going, Woodrow?" a voiced drawled from behind him.

Woody turned to see the same golden haired cowboy who had been with Carolyn earlier. He felt his muscles bristle in a long lost high school rivalry.

"We're tryin' to have a nice evening here, Jake," Mike said, his voice taking on a tone of authority. "No need to go ruining it for everyone."

"My apologies," Jake said while managing to look like it made no difference to him. "Just wanted to compliment Woodrow here on staying so close to the crime scene. Never thought you'd have the guts for something like that, the way you used to practically wet yourself during campout ghost stories."

The entire table managed to bite their tongues, though their faces said enough. Woody sat stone still, a look of deepest hate in his eyes. Jordan was worried that he might burst a blood vessel. She felt Jake turn his attention to her.

"Since you won't introduce me to this lovely lady," he said, offering Jordan his hand and giving her a charming smile. "Jake Sutton."

Jordan hesitated for a second, looking to Woody to gauge his reaction.

"Aw come on," Jake laughed. "You don't need his permission to give me your name."

"Jordan Cavanaugh," she said, though she did not take his hand.

"And you're here to help with the investigation, am I right?" he asked, then chuckled at the surprised look on her face. "News travels fast here. Like the news that the investigation has reached a dead end."

"I think it's time you were going, Jake," Mike suggested none too subtly.

"You may be sheriff now, but don't forget I whooped you silly when we were fourteen," Jake said firmly.

"The difference is, now I can arrest you for it," Mike shot back coolly.

"What do you want, Jake?" Woody demanded before he had a chance to respond to Mike.

"Just to give you some friendly advice," Jake replied. His intense brown eyes flicked back over to Jordan. "I was also hoping that maybe Miss Cavanaugh would care for a dance."

"She's not interested," Woody snapped, commanding Jake's attention again.

"Relax, Hoyt, I'd never dream of moving in on your territory," Jake said with a cocky smile. Woody fixed him with his strongest detective stare. "Your uncle wasn't the best businessman," Jake went on hastily at the look, trying to act casual about it. "He was getting too old for it. He sometimes ended up with too much cash, and people weren't happy about it. Or, people cheated him. Eric Ferrand nearly robbed him blind on a colt two months ago."

"What are you telling me this for?" Woody asked.

"To help you out," Jake said. "Despite what you think, I'm not pure evil." He turned to Jordan and nodded to her, touching his hat rim. "Nice to meet you, Jordan Cavanaugh. I hope to see you again while you're here."

With that, he walked away from the table, leaving them in an uncomfortable silence. Mike was the first to speak.

"I think it's time we call it a night," he said, standing up to put on his jacket.

Everyone followed his lead, exiting the bar on a significantly lower note than they had entered on. Woody refused to look at Jordan, and she was too ruffled by the experience to coax him into a conversation. Jake's presence had unnerved her, at the very least because it made her feel like the rope in a tug of war between him and Woody. One thought was pushing its way to the front of her mind – when did Woody start deciding whom she could and could not dance with? And what did it mean that he was protecting their special routine from an intrusion by Jake, of all people?


	7. Once More, With Feeling

**Thanks for the reviews, my wonderful readers…I'm always glad that my stories are at the very least enjoyable! It's nice to be the high point in someone's day.**

**To GCNFGCHICK02– amen sister friend! I think college has actually driven me deeper into my need for good fanfic, especially during the summer, lol!**

**Once More, With Feeling**

Woody flung the front door of the house open and chucked his jacket at the nearest chair. Jordan walked in a few seconds behind his rampage. She caught sight of him heading into the kitchen and heard a pot being thrown onto the stove.

"Hey, Woody, you know they say not to bottle up your emotions, it's not healthy," she said, resorting to the sarcasm she relied on during uncomfortable situations.

"I would appreciate it if you would just be serious for once," he told her, ripping open a package of pasta to throw into the pot of water. The night had left him with a strong craving for carbs.

"Sorry," Jordan said as she leaned against the counter. She lost his attention and immediately felt the need to speak her mind to get it back. He was already mad, so there was no danger of upsetting him. "Are you at least going to look into this lead?"

"This is not a lead; this is Jake Sutton trying to mess with my head because he's an asshole," Woody said. "He's been doing this all my life."

"It's still worth looking into. It's the only motive we have so far," she said. "It wouldn't hurt to look into his business files."

Woody stared at her like she had just betrayed him. "Please don't tell me you're falling for his act."

"Woody," Jordan rolled her eyes. "I am not falling for anything, I'm just saying that maybe Jake's advice might be a good place to start."

"Cause this is what he does," he went on as though he had not heard her. "He screws with people's heads and sweet talks women. That's all he's ever been about. He gets what he wants from women, and then leaves them. He ruined a number of girls in high school, girls who were completely honorable before they got involved with him."

"That doesn't mean he's not a reliable source of information…especially when we have next to nothing," she said, looking him in the eyes to get her point across. "And if it's my 'honor' you're worried about, I hate to break it to you, but it has been far from intact for a long time, so that's not really an issue here."

This comment seemed to finally snap Woody out of his rant. For a few seconds, he actually looked like he had been reprimanded for something, but the look was gone nearly as fast as it had appeared.

"Do you still have that list?" he asked, desperate to change the subject from where the conversation had landed.

"Yes," Jordan answered, pulling a thick file out of her bag and tugging the list out. She handed it to him and he began to scan through it. "What are you doing?"

"Double checking to see if Jake's name is on here," he muttered. Jordan snorted her disapproval.

"You know, Woody, you've always told me that I'm the one with issues, but I do believe you are proving to be as equally screwed up as I am…although it's almost sweet how concerned you are about girls having honorable reputations. Naïve, but sweet-"

"Oh damn," Woody interrupted her, his finger coming to a stop as he ran it down the list.

"What?"

"Jake said something about a bad business dealing with someone named Eric Ferrand," he said soberly. Jordan looked at him questioningly, and he held the paper up. She looked at the name he had marked.

"Eric Ferrand," she echoed. "I guess we have our starting place."

"I don't believe this," Woody said vehemently. "What the hell could he have done to get himself murdered? Of course, why am I surprised, it is _my_ family!"

"Woody, you need to calm down and take a step back from this for a second."

"You're telling me to calm down?" he said in disbelief. "You, the queen of irrational behavior?"

"Hey, I don't have to be here, you asked for my help," she said defensively, feeling he was getting a little personal. "I'm just trying to help you out so that you don't have this hanging over your head for the rest of your life."

"What, so then I won't have any more burdens?" he threw out his arms and took a step closer to her. "Let me tell you something, Jordan – I've been burdened with this family since I was four and I watched my mother die of cancer in the hospital, and I got to grow up as the kid without a mom. And then I got upgraded to one of the poor Hoyt boys without any parents at all, no one to take care of them. And I had no one to help me with Cal, ever! Solving this case will not magically solve all my problems."

Jordan stood stunned, afraid of this darker side of Woody that was upending the pedestal she had put him on. For years, he had been her sanity and her constant, the voice of reason for everything. She was terrified of losing that, not when she had just been accepted into his life again. She did not want him to be broken. Because if he was broken, who would fix her?

"Woody, I just-"

"You just what? Felt like uncovering yet another criminal in my family?" he asked bitterly. "Felt like finding another reason to feel sorry for me?"

"That's not why I'm here," she said firmly, trying to hide her sadness.

"Then why are you here?" he asked her, knowing he was not going to get an answer. "Do me a favor. Don't bring Jake Sutton into this in any way, shape, or form, understand?"

As he gave her this warning, he crumpled the list he was still holding and tossed it at her feet. Jordan felt her face grow warm in anger. He had insulted her and accused her of less than kindly reasons for wanting to be there to help him, and now he was ordering her around like she was one of his rookie cops. She had listened to him once in all their years together, and once had proven to be one too many. In a flash of disgust, Jordan let the case file drop from her hands unceremoniously, staring at Woody coldly as the papers scattered to the floor like ticker tape. She then turned and quickly went up to her room without waiting for a reaction.

Slamming her door shut, she stormed over to the window and threw it open, in desperate need of some fresh air. She sat down in the little armchair that was near the window and gazed outside. Her heart was beating loudly inside her chest, making her feel like her emotions were trying to burst through her very skin. Inhaling the sweet air from outside helped clear her head a little. She still felt jumpy, though…she felt like she needed to talk to someone. Pulling out her cell phone, she dialed Nigel's number.

"Jordan, calling so soon?" he said lightly, thinking she would have good news.

"What am I doing here?" she asked hopelessly.

"I do believe the answer is: seducing Woody back to the dark side."

"Nigel, I can't do this. One second I want his arms around me, and the next…the next, we're ready to rip each other's heads off."

"You two always did bicker," he reminded her.

"Not like this," she said, then paused, propping her chin on her fist. "It's too hard. I've only been here a day and it's turning into World War III…it was easier to just pretend I didn't care."

"But you do care. That's not fair to either of you," he said gently.

"It hurts too much," she said, her voice thick with emotion now. "We're hurting each other."

Nigel sighed. "Two people as different as you, you're bound to hurt each other…but I couldn't imagine two people more suited for each other, in the end."

Jordan gave a small laugh. "So what are you saying, that we have to destroy each other before we can move on?"

"Are you really destroying each other?" he asked philosophically. "Or are you possibly destroying those lovely fronts you are so fond of putting up as a guard?"

Biting her lip, she thought this over for a moment. He certainly had a point. But breaking down those walls left her exposed with her true emotions caught in the crossfire. Again. Was she willing to brave another round?

"I guess I can try for a little longer," she said.

"That's my girl," Nigel said, his voice holding a smile.

"I just have one question for you."

"Ask away."

"When did you become a relationship self-help book?" Jordan grinned.

"Goodbye Jordan."


	8. Two Minute Personalities

**I love how spontaneous family vacations can throw a wrench into my updates…my apologies for the wait.**

**Two Minute Personalities**

Woody never thought he would feel a particular connection to a literary character such as Dr. Jekyl, but there it was. Watching Jordan walk away from him, he could almost feel himself morph back into his sane self, with the destruction of Mr. Hyde fresh in his mind. There was a reason he had left this place. Several reasons, actually, each more adept at bringing out a most unattractive side of him. Now his two worlds were colliding, and he felt awful for dragging Jordan down with him as he suffered through the transformations.

Woody half expected Jordan to be gone the next morning. The thought bothered him more than he cared to admit. If she walked out on him, he knew it would mean the end of their friendship, or whatever was left of it. There would be no chance of reconciliation.

He did not, however, expect to wake up with a post-it note stuck to his forehead. Confused, he reached up to peel it off and sat up. 'At the morgue' was all it said. A wave of relief washed over him. She had stayed. Woody got dressed quickly and drove into town, stopping at the bakery before going to the morgue. He opened the heavy metal door that led to the room where Jordan had set up shop. She was at a computer, comparing the screen to her notes.

"Couldn't find any wall space for that note?" he joked mildly, hoping to put her in a good mood.

"I wasn't sure where to leave it so you would find it," she answered, then looked at the box of pastries and coffee in his hands. Her eyes flicked up to his. "Is that a peace offering?"

"More like a thank you," he said as he handed her a cardboard cup. "For…everything."

"No apology, then?" she asked, her tone belying the complacent look on her face. Woody hesitated, but Jordan went on before he had a chance to speak. "Didn't think so. Thanks for the coffee."

She gave him a small smile and turned her attention back to the computer. Woody couldn't tell if she was serious, or even angry at all. She was getting harder to read all the time. For Jordan, it felt like a small victory, but one she wasn't quite ready to celebrate. She couldn't even remember the last time he had brought her breakfast. It had to have been well over six months. Before he started easing up on his efforts to catch her. Jordan knew what this small gesture meant, but she wasn't going to allow herself to give in just yet. He owed her some explanations before she dropped all her defenses again.

"You know, I think I liked you better when you were 'Denial Jordan' and you ignored things," he said, though he sounded more resigned than irritated.

Jordan smiled a little to herself. "Can't take the scorn?"

"Hell hath no fury," he quoted, catching her eye and giving her a patented Woody smile. Jordan's heart fluttered a little at the sight, and she had to pull herself together before telling him what she had found that morning.

"Well, in regards to the fury of the crime," she said, referring to the screen, "our killer is definitely male. I pulled some DNA from the samples. I also got Mike to track down Eric Ferrand," she said and handed him a file with all the research she had done. "We have a little investigating to do."

"Jordan, you are amazing," Woody said, looking at the file. "I should make you angry more often if this is the result I get."

"Don't push your luck," she replied.

They gathered their things to leave, and just as they walked out the door onto the street, Woody bumped into someone.

"Sorry," he said automatically, before recognition crossed his face. "Father Mahone."

"Woodrow, it's wonderful to see you. I'd heard you were back in town," Father Mahone said, a smile on his remarkably kind face. "I was surprised not to talk to you sooner, to make arrangements for David's last rights and the funeral."

From anyone other than this unassuming old man, these words would have seemed insensitive. From the surprised look on his face, Jordan guessed that Woody had let this aspect of the situation slip his mind. In their line of work, it was easy to forget that things did not end when the case file was signed and filed away.

"Yeah, sorry," Woody said, trying to gather his bearings. "Things have sort of taken a detour."

"So I've heard," Father Mahone said. "I have to be on my way to a meeting right now, but we can make arrangements later. I look forward to seeing you at Mass tomorrow."

"Uh, I-"

"And you're welcome as well," the priest said warmly to Jordan. She started a little at the invitation.

"Oh, well, I haven't really attended in…I mean-"

"All the more reason to join us," Father Mahone seemed pleased, as though things were once again how they should be. He added to Woody, "Your mother would have loved knowing you were joining us again. She always loved the church…brought you boys every Sunday."

"Yeah," Woody tried to smile sincerely. Father Mahone bid them goodbye and went on his way. Woody looked guiltily at Jordan. "I'm sorry, you shouldn't have gotten roped into that."

"It's okay. Who knows, maybe it'll help my soul out a little," she said as they walked to the car.

"Yeah right," Woody snorted.

"Ha ha," she replied sarcastically. "I'm not in _that_ much trouble yet."

Woody started to unlock the door, and then stopped, a look of puzzlement on his face.

"Jordan, how did you get here?" he asked, suddenly realizing that she had left the car for him at the house.

"I rode a horse," she quipped. He gave her a no-nonsense look and she shrugged casually, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "When I called Mike about Ferrand this morning he offered to drive me in, since we're on his way."

Woody didn't say anything, unlocking the car so she could get in. He had a sinking feeling she was lying, though.

* * *

"Sure I remember this knife," Eric Ferrand said, looking at the bagged weapon Woody had handed him.

He and Jordan had driven an hour to the family dairy where Ferrand worked. He was a manager in his early sixties, and outwardly very obliging to Jordan and Woody. They sat in his office now, looking at the murder weapon.

"So you acknowledge buying this knife," Woody stated.

"Yeah. One of the better hunting knives I ever had," Ferrand said as he handed the knife back. "What's all this about?"

"Mr. Ferrand, that knife was used as a murder weapon," Woody said. Ferrand let out a whistle and crossed his arms over his chest. Woody handed him a photo of his uncle. "Do you remember doing business with this man?"

Ferrand looked closely at the photo. Jordan thought she saw him tense ever so slightly, his skin just a touch redder than it was. He looked from her to Woody and gave the photo back.

"This is about that Thoroughbred colt, isn't it?" he asked as though he had been caught. "Look, he didn't ask for a higher price. I know I underpaid him, but-"

"Mr. Ferrand," Woody interrupted him, holding up a hand. "It's not the price of the colt we're here to talk about."

"This man was murdered a few days ago," Jordan informed him. "With this knife."

"I didn't kill anybody," Ferrand insisted, looking panicked.

"We have enough to connect you to him through business dealings," Jordan held up the file. "And if this was your knife-"

"No, that's impossible," Ferrand said firmly. "I sold that knife over ten years ago."

"You wouldn't happen to have a record of that, would you?" Woody asked doubtfully.

"I do," Ferrand said eagerly, jumping up to rummage through a file cabinet. Woody exchanged a surprised look with Jordan. "You don't sell a knife like that without keeping a record. It's caused fights before, always safe to have proof with stuff like…here it is; the check copy."

He handed the small slip of paper to Woody in relief. Woody looked at the paper. The knife had been sold to a George Havisty. His jaw tightened in disappointment, but he tucked the paper inside his coat.

"You don't mind if I hold onto this, do you?" he asked Ferrand, though it was hardly a request.

"Not at all," Ferrand shook his head. "I'm happy to help in any way."

Woody furrowed his brow as they walked back to the car. With no prints and Ferrand able to prove he had sold the knife, it would be difficult to bring him in for anything. He had to remind himself that the break had been fairly random in the first place. Once they had gone into his uncle's affairs it probably would have surfaced anyway…probably.

"You think he was telling the truth?" he asked Jordan as they drove along.

"Well," she started, "he was either an overzealous liar or an extremely nervous innocent. It's hard to tell the difference sometimes."

"His record is pretty decent," Woody consented.

"That doesn't always point to innocence. Although Jake seemed to think highly of him as a rancher, if not as a horse dealer."

It took several seconds for Jordan to realize why the car had gone silent. She felt her face flush and wanted to slap herself for the slip. She dared a glance at Woody – he did not look happy.

"When did you talk to him?" Woody said the last word like it was poison.

"He saw me arrive at the morgue this morning and stopped to talk," Jordan said with what she hoped was confidence.

"I'm surprised he was awake before noon," Woody said cuttingly.

"He works at the market across the street, he starts at seven thirty."

_Stop talking, why are you still talking!_ she screamed at herself. Woody's grip on the steering wheel tightened and it felt like his jaw might break from how tightly he was holding it. He could not believe she had kept this from him. What taunted him most was why she had kept it from him. What did she have to hide?

"Got pretty personal, didn't you?" he said. "Was this after he drove you into town, straddled on his motorcycle?"

"I told you, Mike drove me in," Jordan insisted. "Why are you turning into a jealous idiot?"

"I'm not jealous," Woody said too quickly. "Just forget it, would you? It's not like his advice got us anywhere."

"You told me not to talk to him about the case," Jordan pressed. "So when he came over to clear up what he'd said about Ferrand, I blew it off and changed the subject. We ended up talking about stupid things like his job."

"Make any good dinner plans?" Woody asked, feeling unnerved by the whole thing. "I'm warning you, Jordan, stay away from him."

"I don't believe you," Jordan muttered under her breath, turning away from him to glare out the window and thinking of all the women she had to endure watching Woody with…or at least hearing about it. He was being absolutely impossible. She had dealt with his attitude in the past, but it seemed to be a daily event now. _Maybe it's better this way_, she told herself. The dose of reality was putting her feet firmly on the ground again about their relationship. And why she was hurt and angry because of him for far longer than she found herself aching for him.

She couldn't help but think about what Nigel had said before she left, starting to wonder if she would be facing the bitter reality of leaving their relationship in the dust. No matter how much she tried to accept the possibility, her other option was still far more appealing. After all, she had managed to unearth a remaining jealous streak in him…hadn't she?


	9. Locks and Bolts

**Locks and Bolts**

Jordan stoically acted as though Woody was not sitting two feet from her. It was turning into a long car ride, with both too stubborn and proud to make an effort. Jordan knew that arguing with him this much was counterproductive to winning his affection, but she had never taken well to rules and people trying to control her. It was natural instinct that made her spar with him.

For his part, Woody found himself a little too angry for comfort at the thought of Jordan and Jake. The guy was a player and had always been able to catch any girl he wanted – something Woody never seemed to have a knack for. But Jordan was no longer his business. He didn't want her to be his business. He was concerned for her well being as a friend, that was all. No need for jealousy. _But she's mine…mine? Where did that come from?_ He tried harder to let it go, but was only rewarded with infuriating images of Jake taking Jordan out, kissing her, bringing her home…

"Damn it," Woody said suddenly, hitting the break and pulling off on a different road.

Jordan looked up in surprise and reached out to hold onto the car door as Woody made the sharp right.

"What?" she asked, startled.

"George Havisty lives down this road. He was in the war with my grandfather," he said irritably.

"I'm guessing that, despite the way you sound, this is a good thing," she said somewhat cautiously.

"I almost drove us back to the station to waste hours looking for this bastard because I can't remember enough of my own grandfather to make the connection sooner," Woody told her.

He drove them to a run down farmhouse that sat amongst a few trees. Chickens pecked at the ground, free to roam the abandoned farmland. Jordan was beginning to think that Kewaunee was worse for Woody than Los Angeles was for her. LA was big, and she had places to hide there. Here, Woody met a ghost every time he turned around.

Jordan followed Woody up to the front door, where he rang the doorbell. They heard nothing for a few moments other than the chickens clucking. Woody raised his hand to ring the bell again when they heard a shuffling sound inside.

"What the hell do you want?" a voice shouted.

"Mr. Havisty?" Woody called. "I'm Woody Hoyt, Franklin Hoyt's grandson."

There was the sound of a lock being unlatched and the door creaked open to reveal an old man in overalls and a plaid shirt - a very ornery looking old man with a shotgun in his hand. Woody unconsciously took a step back at the sight of the weapon. He blinked quickly, his heart racing for a second.

"Well, what is it, boy?" Havisty barked.

"I'm need some information, and I, ah," Woody stammered, eyeing the shotgun. Jordan saw the tension in his face and could almost feel his nerves freefalling. This was the first time he had encountered a weapon since the shooting.

"You the detective or the screw up Hoyt?" Havisty demanded.

"Uh, the de-detective."

Jordan's heart broke watching her unfaltering detective lose his composure. She felt a sudden need to protect him. Havisty was looking doubtfully at Woody.

"You sure you got the nerves for law enforcement, son?" he said.

"Mr. Havisty, we need to ask you some questions about a knife you purchased twelve years ago," Jordan stepped forward. He regarded her as though she were a child who had just said something pretentious.

"Hoyt, you better tell your girlfriend to stay out of matters that don't concern her."

"She's not my girlfriend," Woody said firmly, regaining some of his nerve. Jordan's eyes flashed at him, but he never saw the hurt they contained from being dismissed so easily. "I need you to answer some questions about a knife you bought from Eric Ferrand."

Woody held out a picture of the knife that he had paper clipped the check copy to. Havisty knocked the paper away from his face with the gun barrel. Woody flinched, but stood his ground.

"Eric Ferrand is a cheat," Havisty growled. "I don't wanna talk about anything to do with him."

"It's at least necessary for us to look for-" Jordan started.

"You won't be lookin' for anything, missy, not without a search warrant. I'm not a big fan of the police," he said this to Woody. "And you will be doin' this the right way. Come back with the documents that are necessary, and I'll be more inclined to cooperate."

Jordan opened her mouth to argue, but he slammed the door in their faces. She could hear the melodramatic locking of at least four bolts and chains on the door. She let out an irritated sigh and looked at Woody.

"Don't even look at me like that," he said. "Don't make me list the number of times you've approached a suspect the wrong way."

"Yeah, well this guy is starting to look pretty suspicious," she said. "He's practically certifiable."

"We're not gonna know for sure until we get a search warrant, which we need since we can't even link him physically to the scene."

"Unless…" Jordan said, a glint of a plan appearing in her eyes. She left the porch and started walking around the house.

"Unless?" Woody asked worriedly. He didn't like it when that look of determination was in her eyes. He followed her path. "Unless what, Jordan?"

"Would you be quiet?" she hushed him, looking at the foundation.

"Jordan, we are not breaking into his house, he's home for crying out loud," he whispered harshly.

"I know that," she whispered back sharply. "We're not trying to get into the _house_."

"Oh?" he replied unenthusiastically.

"No. Because if he is our killer, then he has a little chemistry set lying around somewhere. And what idiot would keep it in their house," she asked as they rounded a corner and came in sight of a cellar door, "when they know ethyl chloride is highly flammable?'

Convinced she had struck gold, she hurried over to the wooden door. A large iron lock held it shut tight. She pulled out her lock picking kit and set to work.

"No, Jordan, no, this is so not the way to handle this," Woody stopped as the lock clicked open. Jordan heaved the door up and turned on her mini flashlight. Woody glared at her. "I swear, Jordan, one of these days…"

"Pow, right in the kisser? Who are you, Jackie Gleason?"

"Don't think the idea hasn't crossed my mind," he smiled insincerely at her.

"That makes two of us then," she mimicked his look and headed into the cellar.

Woody rolled his eyes and reluctantly followed her. They walked down the wooden steps in the dark, fighting against the musty smell overwhelming the room. Jordan's light landed on a light bulb chain hanging from the ceiling.

"This doesn't exactly smell like the best environment to be mixing chemicals," Woody commented as she pulled on the chain.

Light filled the cellar, revealing shelves stocked with guns, rifles, fishing poles, and a large variety of hunting knives. Jordan's eyes widened slightly as she stood frozen in the middle of the room.

"This is not looking good for mister uncooperative up there," she said.

"Think he's a member of the NRA?" Woody deadpanned as he walked up to one of the shelves. Jordan swallowed a laugh, opting to start looking around at the other end of the room. Woody checked the hunting knives carefully, looking at every single holder and box in case it matched the right manufacturer. "You still think he's got ethyl chloride down here?"

"Not with gun powder sitting around," she replied with discouragement, holding up a box of the substance for him to see. They exchanged looks of disappointment. Without warning, the door to the cellar crashed shut, and they heard the distinct clink of the lock being put back in place. They both stared silently at the door, rays of the late afternoon sun seeping through small cracks and catching stirred up dust…they were trapped.


	10. Tired of Waiting

**Tired of Waiting**

Woody stared in disbelief at the cellar door, then came to his senses and ran up the stairs. Jordan followed closely behind him, and they both stood beneath the door, hitting it with their fists.

"Mr. Havisty!" Woody shouted.

"It's against the law to trespass," came the self-satisfied reply.

"Yeah, it's also against the law to hold an officer hostage," Woody yelled. There was no reply this time, but they could hear footsteps retreating across the gravel yard. Woody hit the door with his fist and stormed down a few stairs, turning to face the heavy wooden door. "Stand back, Jordan."

"No, Woody I don't think that's such a-" Jordan said rapidly, trying to stop Woody from his onslaught. He flew right past her up the stairs and collided solidly with the door, but with no effect. Jordan winced. "…good idea," she finished grimly.

Woody glared ruefully at the block of oak as he rubbed his throbbing shoulder. He turned and tromped down the stairs. Jordan looked after him, debating whether to comfort him or yell at him for endangering his back like that.

"Can you shoot the lock?" she asked, choosing to stay productive.

"I would, if I had my gun. But with the lock being on the other side I might run out of bullets before I even hit it."

"Since when do you not carry your gun?"

"Well, I didn't know there was the possibility of you getting us locked in a storm cellar today."

Jordan glared at him and bit the inside of her lip, hoping the pain would distract her from fighting. They were doing far too much of that lately. "Why don't you use one of the shotguns," she suggested.

"Did you see any bullets?" he asked rhetorically.

Jordan turned away from him and began looking for a crack in the wood that she could see out of, dropping her attempts to help. Woody tested his shoulder, feeling his muscles bruising already. Why was she always getting him into situations like this? For all intents and purposes, the two of them should have been arrested more than once at this point in their careers, if not killed. They had been extremely lucky, given what Jordan dragged them into. In the end, though, he couldn't think of anyone he would rather be trapped with. But he was almost sure he was no longer the center of her thoughts, not after the way he'd treated her. Not that he cared. _I don't care_, he told himself. _I don't care, I don't care, I…do. Shit_.

"This is a fantastic mess, Jordan," he muttered, not sure exactly what he was referring to.

"Oh yes, Woody, this is fitting. This is exactly what I wanted to be doing on a Saturday night," she said sarcastically.

"Keeping you away from hooking up with Jake?" he said bitterly, though his voice remained quiet.

Jordan pushed away from the door and stormed down the stairs to the center of the room. If looks could kill, Woody would have been speared to the wall.

"Okay, you want to have this out?" she seethed.

"What are you talking about?"

"What is your problem! You don't want me, but nobody else can have me either, is that it?" she fired at him, the words burning with the fears she didn't want actualized.

"Your personal life is your business, I'd just prefer not to see Jake Sutton play you," he said, his voice rising. "I got to witness that enough when I lived here."

"Oh, like you haven't done the same thing," she snapped. Woody narrowed his eyes, feeling his emotions reaching a boiling point.

"I never played you."

"Bullshit."

"With who?" he demanded. He could see the fire in her eyes – she wanted to lash him. "With who!"

"Forget it," she muttered, backing down.

"With Devan, is that what you want to say?" he nearly shouted at her. Jordan flinched. "With Santana, with a dozen other girls the fucking liars at the precinct linked me to? Go ahead, Jordan, accuse me of what you've always wanted to."

She didn't say anything. She wasn't sure what to say to him. It had been easy to dismiss many of those rumors about him and other women…but it was harder to ignore what she saw with her own eyes. His relationship with Devan had always been in the back of her mind, reminding her that Woody was still just a guy, capable of the human failings of all guys. Could she blame him for falling for the perky blonde, especially with the way things had ended? Looking down at her shoes, Jordan remained silent.

"I never slept with her," his voice was intense. "Or with anyone else. I don't play women."

He didn't add that when he had tried miserably to move on, it was always a pair of golden brown eyes staring back at him no matter who he was with. Even when Jordan pushed him to find someone else, it was inevitably her who unknowingly drove him back. He had loved Devan – as a close friend. Nothing more. Not when there was Jordan.

"That didn't stop you from seeing them, though, did it?" she countered.

"What do you want me to say, Jordan? You wouldn't let me kiss you, you would barely go out with me if more than a casual atmosphere was implied. Not exactly the definition of an exclusive relationship. And you know, I seem to remember you playing the friend card on more than one occasion. Why would it matter to you if I'm seeing someone or not?" he pressed her.

"I could ask you the same question," she said curtly.

"Would you stop avoiding what I'm asking you?" he said, taking a step closer to her.

"I'm not avoiding anything!" she said as she held her ground.

"This is so typical of you."

"I don't have to explain myself to you, I don't even know _why_ I'm defending myself to you."

"You're impossible, do you know that?" he said, running his hands through his hair in frustration. "I don't know how to get through that stubborn Irish head of yours."

"Well I'm not quite as easy to figure out as the other women you were dating," she snapped. "Forgive me for being three dimensional."

"Yeah, a psychologist's dream."

"Jerk."

"Hypocrite."

For half a beat, they just stared at each other. Jordan wasn't sure what happened next. She wasn't sure who reached for who. All she knew was that in the next moment, Woody's arm was around her waist, pressing her against him, and her own arms were wrapped around his neck pulling him closer as his mouth claimed hers desirously. She felt his hands skirt across her back, gripping her body and making her arch against him. His lips and tongue danced with hers, making her nearly delirious. She laced her fingers in his hair, locking him to her. After what felt like hours, Woody broke away and rested his forehead against hers, working for air.

"What was that?" Jordan breathed.

Woody shook his head, opening his mouth to speak without the slightest idea of what to say. His head was still reeling from the way she had pressed against him. If he had known she could kiss like that…

Before he had a chance to speak, they heard the sound of a car pulling into the gravel yard outside. Pulling away from each other at that moment was the hardest thing either of them had ever done. But they had to get out of that cellar…although Jordan would have been okay with staying right where she was for a while longer.

Reluctantly, they stepped away from each other and went quickly up the stairs. They started banging on the door as loudly as they could, yelling to whoever it was to come let them out. Through a small crack in the wood, Jordan thought she saw a pair of legs walking towards them. A few seconds later, the lock was being opened and the door swung open, a flashlight beaming down on them.

"Woody?" a voice said, its owner's face obscured by the light. Jordan and Woody stepped out of the cellar and came face to face with Chuck from the police station. "You're the intruder George called in?"

"Is that what he said?" Woody asked.

"Said there were a couple of questionable individuals harassing him," Chuck told them with a humoring look.

"We were asking him about his connection to the murder weapon, he locked us in his cellar," Jordan explained, conveniently omitting that they had been down there without permission. Chuck raised his eyebrows.

"The knife was his?" he asked.

"We're not sure yet," Woody said.

"You want me to bring him into the station?" Chuck offered. "I know he can be a little difficult to deal with."

Woody shook his head, remembering the shotgun flashing in his face. "Give him a day to cool off."

'We can come back with a search warrant on Monday," Jordan agreed. She hoped playing by the rules would keep her in a good place with Woody.

"All right," Chuck consented, nodding his head. He looked at Woody, furrowing his brow. "You takin' to wearing colored chapstick?"

Woody's hand flew up to his mouth, wiping at his lips. He looked down and saw a faint red smear on his fingers and glanced at Jordan. She was looking at him slightly wide eyed and certainly embarrassed. What a time for her color-stay lipstick to fail her…Chuck looked from Woody to Jordan to the cellar, and then back again with a raise of his eyebrows.

"I'll see what I can do about that search warrant," he said, turning to go back to his squad car.


	11. Did You Ever Long To Kiss Me?

**I just read the TV Guide "Returning Favorites" article on _Crossing Jordan_… let's just say Tim Kring is not my favorite person right now, and I'm not really feeling my story anymore…sigh. The whole 'will they won't they?' thing is starting to get old on that show. Oh well, I'll stick it through…because I have nothing else to do at the moment. Maybe the producers lie.**

**Oh yeah, and the song used in this chapter is from Faith Hill's new CD _Fireflies_.**

**Did You Ever Long To Kiss Me?**

Woody barely said a word before they returned to the house. It wasn't for lack of something to say to her. On the contrary, he had a thousand thoughts shooting through his brain. Most of them involved loosing her deep chestnut locks from that practical bun so he could run his fingers through them while he undressed her. And it was precisely those thoughts which were going to lead him right into a train wreck. The kiss had shocked him, not for its suddenness, but for its intensity. There had been no resistance on her part at all. If he had chosen to, he could have taken things quite far…and he had wanted to.

It was going to be very hard denying his lingering attraction to Jordan. At some level, he had never stopped wanting her. And from the reaction she had given him, he suspected Jordan was in a willing place she had never trusted herself in around him before. He could easily let himself get lost in this sudden turn around in her behavior. But how long would it be before she decided to bolt out of his arms when the commitment became too much? Or…what if this was simply something she needed to get out of her system? For all Woody knew, it could be purely physical on her reasoning…he wouldn't put it past her. Having Jordan for one night and then losing her forever would be worse than never having her at all. It wasn't what he wanted.

It was these thoughts that kept him from taking her to bed that very night. It was an effort to limit his contact with her to a light touch on the small of her back as he guided her into the house. Jordan hadn't seemed to notice his silence. She had been lost in her own thoughts. While she never had an exact plan to set their relationship right again, she had expected to work at it at least. How had arguing like never before landed her in his arms? Did he even know what was going through her mind at his touch?

After being guided into the house, Jordan walked uncertainly towards the stairs. His silence was beginning to bother her now. Was he going to pretend nothing had happened, letting the moment disappear like a stupid mistake? Stopping after only a few steps, she turned around and faced him, holding onto the banister for courage. It was time to lay her cards on the table.

"Woody, I need to tell you something," she blurted out before she lost her nerve.

"Jordan…I think I know what you're going to say," he said, his face falling a little. _Here it comes. 'We shouldn't have done that. It didn't mean anything.'_ "I don't know if I have the energy for it right now."

"I don't care. I finally have the strength to say this, I can't just stop," she said simply. "I might never work up the nerve again…I know it seems like I strung you along for the last few years. But let's face it, I have commitment issues…I spook easily. You knew that when you took me on. But it hurt me when I heard things about you and other women. Maybe you were just trying to get a reaction out of me, I don't know. But you should have known better than to think I would pull a jealousy act when you looked so…so happy."

Jordan swallowed back the pain at the thought of him contented with someone else. Woody caught the look in her eyes and glanced down in shame. Jordan really knew how to tell it like it was, in the end.

"And it really hurt when you threw me out of your life," she said softly, though her voice was full of conviction. There it was, voiced and unregrettably revealed. She held up a hand when he opened his mouth to explain. "I'm not blaming you for feeling the way you did. I'd hate me too if I had to endure half the things I put you through," she smiled a little. Looking down at her hand gripping the railing, her face grew deeply serious. "But there was not a single day that I didn't care about you, more than I care about my own life. If I didn't do enough to let you know, I can't tell you how sorry I am. I'm not asking you to make a decision about us right now. But…I just needed to…tell you."

As she said this, she stepped closer to him. As long as she was acting like she had had five shots of tequila, she might as well give him a little extra encouragement. She placed her hand against the side of his face, pulling him down to meet her lips. She let her other hand trail down to his abs, coming to rest just above the waist of his jeans. Woody felt his blood warm under his skin, automatically bringing his hands to her hips and pulling her closer. Jordan traced his lips with her tongue, and he opened his mouth obligingly. The fact that she was leading this was making her incredibly sexy to him. He was starting to lose control…and he didn't care. Just as suddenly as she had started the moment, Jordan pulled away from him and backed away a few steps. Her face was flushed, and she was nearly shaking from her boldness.

"I'm sorry," she said, and for a second he thought she was bolting already. "I'm sure that's the last thing you need from me right now…my horrible timing as usual."

With this final apologetic statement, she turned and went straight upstairs, leaving Woody abandoned in the hallway in a most unfulfilled state. He stared after her in disbelief, feeling far from satisfied with where she had ended things. The last ten minutes had knocked all reason out of his head.

Jordan changed into her pajamas and climbed into bed, smiling to herself. She lay awake for a long time, knowing exactly what she had just done to Woody. She had meant every word of what she said to him, and only hoped that he would believe her once she began to show him how much she wanted things to change between them. After a while, she heard his footsteps approach her room, stopping just short of her door. She could almost see him arguing with himself over whether he should go in. He finally walked away with what she suspected was frustrated rationality. She smiled with confidence. _Always leave them wanting more…_

* * *

Woody was noticeably friendlier to Jordan the next morning. Although he said nothing of the night before, it still remained heavy on his mind. He felt confused. His heart still wanted Jordan; that much was clear. But there was still so much they had yet to figure out. The air had not been cleared, and he still had to deal with how he had treated Jordan.

Was he sorry for severing their relationship? Undoubtedly. He hated what he had done, how he had let his emotions get tangled and ended up effectively blaming her for what happened to him. But was he sorry for telling her off for waiting so long to realize she might care for him, dragging him through Hell and high water in the process of figuring it out? That, he was unsure about. But Fate had a keen way of prodding him in the right direction as the day wore on, starting with ten a.m. Mass.

Amazingly, Jordan kept her word to attend with him. It was the first time he had gone since before the shooting. He had lost a lot of faith in God during his time in the hospital. Afterwards, he had felt too guilty about his despair to go back. Here, though, with Father Mahone expecting his presence, it was difficult not to go. It was a testament of Jordan's loyalty to him that she was there, reciting the responses and the Our Fathers right along with him – Woody knew how she felt about the Catholic Church. Maybe…could what she said to him have been true? Was she willing to try that hard for him? _She's left you alone before_, his pessimist side warned him.

And that's when the powers that be decided they would hit him upside the head with a frying pan, more than once,if need be, to get him to snap out of it. Father Mahone began to tell a story that Woody had heard before – the one about a man who walked through his life, sometimes seeing a set of footprints belonging to God next to his, sometimes not. He thought that God had abandoned him in his most desperate times. God explained that he was never abandoned – it was in those times that He had carried the man. Father Mahone asked everyone to realize that even in the most horrible times in life, they are never alone. There will always be someone to carry them. He told them to be grateful to those in life who did carry them.

Woody glanced over at Jordan. She was looking down at her hands innocently, but her eyes gave away how the message had hit her. If they had done anything for each other, it had been giving support while one or the other buckled under the trials of life. They owed a great deal to each other. Woody doubted he would ever find that kind of connection again. He let his gaze drop away from her as the line for Communion was started. After the final prayer was said and the Mass began to break up, Woody pressed the keys to the car into her palm.

"Go on to the car," he told her.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"To talk to Father Mahone about something I should have taken care of the first day I got here," he said. "I need to make arrangements for my uncle."

Jordan watched him walk away before turning to go to the car. Her heart was starting to grow heavy with the way he seemed to be ignoring what was happening between them. Maybe he didn't want to fix things after all. Maybe last night was just a result of the pent up anger inside of them, looking for a release in any form.

She got a few curious stares from some of the other church goers as she walked through the parking lot. No doubt they wanted to know who this stranger was with one of their own. One older woman even stopped Jordan to teasingly say that she hoped Jordan was feeding Woody meals that would keep him trim and not gain all that weight back. Jordan smiled self-consciously. It felt like a sledgehammer had hit her in the gut. With that comment, she finally got it – her Woody was not the same man who had left this town. She had no idea who the Kewaunee Woody was, or what made him that way. Would that man stand in the way of her chances with the Woody she knew?

Jordan was glad to finally retreat to the car. She didn't have to wait long for Woody.

"I ran into Chuck," he said as he joined her. "He told me that George Havisty's daughter wants to talk to us. I guess she heard about what happened."

"She wants to see us today?" Jordan asked.

"Yup. She works as a waitress/singer at our favorite local bar," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. "She's there right now, we can meet her."

Hardly anyone was in The Bucket at that time of day, and the ones who were in there were mostly people cleaning up from the night before. Jordan and Woody were told to sit anywhere and that Annalisa Havisty would be with them shortly after her rehearsal finished. The band was onstage preparing for a show that night. They had just finished a lively country song and went right into a power ballad. It was after they had sat down at the table to wait that Woody started to think someone must be blatantly trying to tell him something about Jordan. They both grew very still as they listened to the lyrics that Annalisa was singing.

_You never looked so good  
as you did last night,  
underneath the city lights,  
there walking with your friend,  
laughing at the moon.  
I swear you looked right through me.  
But I'm still living with your goodbye,  
and you're just going on with your life. _

How can you just walk on by  
without one tear in your eye?  
Don't you have the slightest feelings left for me?  
Maybe that's just your way  
of dealing with the pain,  
forgetting everything  
between our rise and fall  
like we never loved at all.

You, I hear you're doing fine.  
Seems like you're doing well  
as far as I can tell.  
Time is leaving us behind,  
another week has passed  
and still I haven't laughed yet.  
So tell me, what your secret is  
to letting go, letting go like you did.

Did you forget the magic?  
Did you forget the passion?  
Oh, and did you ever miss me,  
and long to kiss me?

Maybe that's just your way  
of dealing with the pain,  
forgetting everything  
between our rise and fall  
like we never loved at all.

_What the hell?_ Woody thought. _I have to interview this woman after that?_ Annalisa came down from the stage and walked over to where they were sitting. She was a petite woman in her early forties, copper hair and tanned skin. She looked like the kind of woman who didn't take crap from anybody. She extended her hand to Woody.

"Detective Hoyt, I am so sorry about what happened with my father," she said.

"Oh, it's all right, really. We were partly in the wrong anyway," he said with a glance at Jordan. Her lips quirked into a small smile which she tried to hide.

"My father can be a pain in the ass," Annalisa said with a roll of her eyes. "He had no right to behave that way, especially considering what you folks were there about."

"So Chuck filled you in?" Woody asked.

Annalisa nodded. "I can't tell you how sorry I am for your loss. It's just awful. But…well, I don't really know how to tell you this. We sold that particular knife to David several years ago."

Woody thought he felt his stomach drop out of his body. His mouth dropped open slightly, but he couldn't manage a single word. Fortunately, Jordan came to his rescue.

"Are you absolutely sure about that?" she asked.

"Yes ma'am. I sold it personally. You see, half or so of that stuff is mine. I just store it at my father's place. You're quite welcome to search my house or his, of course," Annalisa explained. At the crestfallen look on Woody's face, she added, "Like I said, I'm so sorry. I feel just terrible about this."

She stood up with a regretful look and left them. Jordan placed a consoling hand over his. There was nothing they could do but go back and start over at the beginning. When they returned to the ranch, Jordan followed Woody into the guest house. He stopped just inside of the door and looked around quietly. Finally, his eyes landed on a large cabinet in one corner. He walked up to it and opened the double doors, an unreadable look on his face. Jordan stood back a little, unable to see beyond the open doors. Woody reached inside and pulled out an empty display box. It was an exact match to the knife. He looked off into space and shook his head.

"All this time, it's been a wild goose chase," he said quietly. Weighing the box carefully in his hands, he turned and walked towards the door. "I need to just…take a drive; clear my head."

"Woody," Jordan said, stopping him. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I'm all right," he told her. He reached out and gently brushed his fingers against her cheek, briefly releasing the look of concern in her eyes. For a moment, it looked as though he were about to say something, but he turned quickly and left.

Jordan lifted her arms a little and let them fall to her side in uncertainty. She knew he was starting to lose hope. It hurt her terribly to see the look of surrender in his eyes. Unable to help him in any other way, she started prepping the whole guest house for one more thorough look. There had to be something they had missed. There just had to be.

The doorbell surprised her, and she left her work to see who would be showing up there of all places. She opened the door on a man who looked to be in his thirties, a crisp white shirt on with a label that said "Florist." He smiled at her.

"Delivery for you, miss," he said, handing her a long white box. She took it and looked at him in confusion.

"Oh. Ah, I think there might be a mistake," she said.

"Is this the Hoyt ranch?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Then there's no confusion. Have a nice day," he told her happily, turning to leave before she could protest.

Jordan stared after him, curious who could have sent her flowers. Picking up a small envelope that had been slipped under a yellow ribbon, she flipped the flap up and read the card.

_To the brilliant and beautiful ME – _

_From a Secret Admirer_

A little strange, perhaps, but Jordan was flattered nonetheless. Although she had no interest, for obvious reasons, she suspected they might be from a certain golden haired cowboy who enjoyed going after what was not his. She smiled. Woody would hit the roof. It was lovely knowing she had the ability to make him jealous. And this would certainly send him into a fit.

She opened the box and found a dozen long stemmed pink roses. They smelled glorious, even from a foot away. She lowered her head and inhaled the scent…and immediately knew something was wrong. They smelled too sweet. Sickeningly sweet. The room began to spin and her vision blurred. She felt light headed and knew she was going to black out.

"Woody," she said, though it came out in a slurred whisper. She prayed that he would find her before this sick bastard did. The next moment, she felt her body hit the ground before losing reality.


	12. Just To Feel You

**Just To Feel You**

"Are you telling me that after you dated other women, threw her out of your life, and fought like arch enemies for the last month, this woman still wants you?"

Woody nodded guiltily at the way Mike repeated the long winded story Woody had just told him. His first intention in coming to the station had been to turn in the knife case as evidence. He ended up spilling his guts to the only person he felt he could talk to about Jordan. He and Mike had always been fairly honest about women, as far as buddies go. And Woody needed advice.

"You are one lucky son of a bitch," Mike said with a short laugh. "Any other woman would have left you in the dust and moved on to new territory by now. Or socked you in the gut and aimed for your entry wound."

"Believe me, I think she's considered it. Jordan…Jordan and I are never on the same page. We've hurt each other a lot. I just wonder if maybe it's not worth the pain anymore."

Mike considered his friend. He knew that Woody had enjoyed the liberties of a police badge and a newly trim physique when it came to women. It surprised him when Woody, who had always been dubbed "the nice guy," stepped into that role. And it surprised him even more to hear that Jordan Cavanaugh had pretty much put an end to that behavior; try though he might, Woody could not get over her.

"Is what you have with her when you _are_ in the same place worth fighting for?" he inquired.

Woody thought about this for a second. What was it that kept him trying?

"Those moments when I have her…those very rare moments when I really have her," he paused, shaking his head as he looked for the right words. "It's like tasting lightening. I know that the risk could be huge every time…but the thrill is too tempting."

Mike let out a low whistle. "God damn, you are screwed," he said with an amused smile.

"It's just, we've been dancing around each other for so long," Woody continued, pacing a little in the small office. "But we're never doing the same dance. I'm…waltzing, and she's trying to samba…or whatever," he added at a particularly amused snort from Mike.

"Metaphors aside, Woods, though they are excellent ones I must say," Mike said. "Have you ever considered asking her where she is on all this?" Woody furrowed his brow, hands on his hips. "In other words – did you ever consider teaching her the steps to your dance? Or learning hers, for that matter?"

It seemed so simple: just talk to her. He and Jordan usually had two ways of confronting their relationship – avoidance with flippant remarks, or unabashed fighting. Neither had fixed things, though the latter had at least given them a shove in the right direction. Woody thought this over carefully as he drove home. Maybe it was time to start talking.

Woody sensed that something was off as soon as he got out of the car. The door to the guest house was wide open. He narrowed his eyes, looking carefully at the doorway. It almost looked like there was something lying just inside the door. Were those…legs? He started towards the house, quickening his pace as he went and feeling his heart begin to pound.

"Jordan?" he called. She didn't answer. "Jordan!"

Nearing the door, he registered the sound of a haunting ballad being played loudly from the stereo system. The sound became distant as his mind and senses were numbed to everything but the image of Jordan lying lifeless on the floor. He thought his heart would shatter as he looked for any signs of blood or a wound.

"Oh God, no, please no," he choked out desperately. He knelt down next to her and felt for a pulse, listening for her breath, and knowing that if he couldn't find either than his own might fail him. She was warm. And alive. Even with this knowledge, Wood felt his blood run cold in panic. He ran a hand across her brow, fighting against the lump in his throat. "Jordan, sweetheart, wake up. Talk to me." Nothing. He nearly ripped his phone apart in his attempt to call 911. "I need an ambulance, now!"

* * *

Time had stopped. Woody was sure about that. It felt like the world had slowed down and no one could move fast enough to help him. Sitting in the entryway waiting for the ambulance had been agony. He had shoved away the box of roses from her hands without really realizing that the item was out of place at the crime scene. All he could do was hold onto her limp body and try to get her to respond to him as he heard the wail of the sirens grow closer. 

The ride to the hospital seemed to take a year. He could only think about how stupid he was for leaving her alone. If he hadn't been such an idiot about trusting her, this never would have happened. Any and all forms of this same thought tore through his mind while he waited anxiously in the ER. What was taking them so long? How many minutes had gone by? He glanced at his watch again. Twenty seven. He ran his hands over his face. Yes, time had indeed stopped.

"Detective Hoyt?"

Woody looked up at the doctor who had admitted Jordan. She was an Asian woman perhaps in her forties. The look on her face was not completely encouraging, but it didn't look too grim either.

"You can come back with me, now," she said, and he followed her down the hall to a private room where Jordan was lying in a hospital bed. Woody swallowed hard at the sight. It was something he had hoped never to see. The doctor closed the door behind them and talked in a low voice, though it appeared that Jordan was still out. "You're going to have to fill me in on what exactly you two are involved in right now. Miss Cavanaugh was drugged. Very severely."

"We're working on a murder investigation," he said quietly, keeping an eye on Jordan. "But I don't know why…there's nothing about it to make her a target."

"Are you sure about that?" the doctor asked. "There were large traces of ethyl chloride in her system."

Woody's eyes shot up to meet hers. "What?"

"It was inhaled, most likely," the doctor said, obviously seeing that she had touched on something important. "I'm guessing that information is significant?"

"The killer left traces of ethyl chloride on the victim," Woody said with a sick feeling in his stomach. _If I hadn't gotten there when I did_…He shook the thought away. "Is she going to be all right?"

"Yes. She'll have some bruises from hitting the ground, and will be pretty groggy from the drugs, but she'll be okay. She's lucky, though. Any more potent, and she would have been in serious trouble" she said. She looked at Woody carefully for a moment. "I haven't had much experience in police work, but with the little I've run into in the ER, I've learned that no one is completely safe. It's often the innocent who pay the price. Don't take anyone's life lightly."

Woody knew that she wasn't reprimanding him so much as giving him the voice of experience. He had heard speeches very much like that one when he was recovering. He didn't take it very seriously until now. The doctor told him that Jordan would be released as soon as she was awake and responsive. She then left him to sit with her.

Jordan looked horribly small and vulnerable in the hospital bed, surrounded by beeping machines and tubes. She would smack him for thinking of her that way. Jordan always had to be strong, always had to prove to everyone that she would do the exact opposite of what they expected. She was good at being strong.

Sitting down on the edge of her bed, he gently took her hand and began to lightly message it. Her eyes fluttered the slightest bit.

"Come on, Jo. Be strong now," he told her.

He saw her head turn a little, a hint of concentration appearing on her face. She looked like she was trying to find her way back to consciousness. Her lips tightened and she swallowed, her eyes squeezing shut harder before her lids batted open carefully, adjusting to the light. Her warm brown eyes looked up at him, her brow drawn down in discomfort.

"How the hell did I let you talk me into coming here?" she muttered.

Woody smiled in relief. Rather than answer her sarcastic question, he reached over to the bedside table and grabbed the cup of water sitting there, offering it to her. She grimaced slightly as she sat up straighter, taking the cup from him.

"How do you feel?" he asked.

"Oh just as well as can be expected for someone who got a shot of ethyl chloride in her lungs," she said. Woody blinked in surprise. "I knew it the second I smelled those roses. They were laced with it. It smells disgustingly sweet."

Woody searched the back of his mind for what she was talking about. He had knelt down next to her in the house and…pushed away a box of roses. Jordan stared at him warily as she realized that he had missed the clue.

"Please tell me you bagged those flowers," she said

"It wasn't exactly my first priority when I found you unconscious on the floor," he told her. Before she could respond with any criticizing remarks, he said, "But I did call over at the station, and they sent a few guys to check out the house and keep watch."

Jordan was about to ask him why on earth he wasn't there himself when her doctor came back into the room to assess her progress. After a few simple tests and some questions, Jordan was cleared to go. Woody helped her to the car, a protective arm slipped securely around her waist.

"It's a little late in the evening, but I think we could get rooms at the Inn in town," he said to her.

"And why would we do that?" she asked.

"Because you were attacked at the place that we are currently staying, and it's only asking for trouble if we go back," he explained as though it were the simplest concept on earth.

"Woody, I didn't freak out and leave my apartment when it was broken into, so I don't think we have to go running for the hills because of this," she tried to convince him. He looked at her with narrowed eyes.

"You totally slept in your car for two days at the morgue parking deck when that happened. Don't even lie to me and think I don't know," he said. She gaped at him and tried quickly to recover her composure.

"Okay, well, you said yourself that there are cops watching the house," she argued. "I just don't see why we have to give this perp the satisfaction of seeing us run away."

Woody knew he had two options. He could either give in to Jordan's need for strength in this case, or he could ignore her and deal with her arguing for the rest of the trip why they should have stayed where they were. He was sure it would kill her to show even the slightest weakness to this guy. He only tried arguing with her for ten more minutes before reluctantly bending to her wishes…as usual.

Even with the guys from the police station patrolling the property, Woody felt like they were walking right into a trap. The cops told them that they had checked everywhere in both houses for anything suspicious, but nothing had been found. They had taken the flowers and the record as evidence as Woody had instructed on his cell. Jordan, being her usual perfectionist self, tried to suggest that they check out the guest house right then. Woody used the fact that she was still weak to physically steer her into the main house despite her protests.

"Woody, aren't you overreacting just a little bit?" she asked with exasperation as he ushered her upstairs.

"No, in fact, I think I'm being fairly accommodating to your insane requests right now, considering I came back here to find you dangerously close to death. Do you have any idea how that feels…?" he trailed off as she fixed him with a penetrating stare. He looked away from her in embarrassment. "Yeah, I guess you do," he mumbled quietly.

They stopped in front of her room. Jordan was exhausted from the ethyl chloride, the trip to the hospital, and the drugs they had administered and longed to fall into bed. She reached for the doorknob, then paused and glanced back at Woody.

"It'll be okay, Woody. Really. Can't run from everything," she said, giving him a small smile. She turned to go into her room.Woody reached out andcaught her elbow, turning her back around andpulling her into a tight embrace. Jordan was caught off guard, but easily rested against his chest, tucked securely under his chin. He gently placed a hand against the back of her head, holding her to him. He held her like this for several minutes, not saying a word. He just needed to feel her close to him, sure that she was all right. Jordan felt safer in his arms than at any other time in her life. She could have stayed there in the hall with him all night. After a few minutes had passed, he reluctantly released her, knowing she needed to rest.

"Sleep well, Jordan," he told her, watching her carefully as she retreated into the room.

A half an hour after he was sure she was safely in bed, he still stood leaning against the wall opposite her door. He felt like the whole thing was his fault. He should never have asked her to come out here, putting her life in danger. And here he was, going against his better judgment and risking her safety again. Sighing heavily, he walked over to her door and sat down in front of it, leaning his back against the wood. He could forgo sleep for one night to make sure she was safe.

* * *

**SLIGHT SPOILER WARNING FOR SEASON 5...this information is at the request of R. Parker, so if you don't want to know what the producers have to say, turn back now...this is your last warning...**

**Ok, so basically they said that Jordan is back to her old romance habits (ie: one night stands) because of what Woody did, and Woody gets involved with his psychiatrist... on the plus side, Kring did say that "everyone knows Woody and Jordan belong together"... I guess they just think it's more fun to shatter our dreams first**


	13. Thunder

**I'm glad everyone liked the spoiler, little though it was. I was a tad worried thatpeople might be mad at me for, uh, spoiling, lol. I'm hopelessly impatient and I tend to know the scoop on shows way in advance, and I forget that not everyone shares that joy. At any rate, thanks for the reviews! And now, on with the show...**

**Thunder**

Jordan's eyes blinked open reluctantly at the glare of morning. She felt like she had the world's worst hangover. Unfortunately, it wasn't the first time she had woken with this feeling. Getting drugged the way she did had to be the most uncomfortable experience possible. She cursed softly as she sat up and rubbed at her temples, vowing to change her work habits so that this wouldn't happen to her for a third time. Flinging the quilt back, she got out of bed carefully and walked towards the door with the goal of finding some Tylenol or, at the very least, some coffee.

She opened the door and jumped back with a yelp as Woody fell backwards into her room, his eyes snapping open when the door pulled away from his back. He hit the floor with a thud, but was spared by the thick rug on the ground. Still, he grimaced at the crude awakening. Jordan ran her hands over her face in frustration and closed her eyes in an attempt to slow her racing heart.

"Jesus, Woody, you scared me," she said. Not to mention the fact that he almost got an advantageous look from the floor, seeing as she had mere sleep shorts on. Woody groaned slightly, blinking his eyes into focus.

"Yup, 'cause that's how I like to wake up _every _morning, crashing into the floor and frightening you," he said sarcastically, sitting up and rubbing the back of his head.

"What were you doing out there?" she asked.

"Uh…sleeping," he said vaguely. Jordan looked at him curiously.

"You were out there all night?" she asked, her voice softening. Woody nodded. She could barely hide the smile tugging at her lips. "You watched my room the whole night?"

"Umm…yeah. Until I fell asleep, yeah," he said, slightly embarrassed.

"What a Prince Charming thing to do," she said with a smile, half meaning it. Woody tossed her a look that was only partly withering as he stood up. She could tell he was proud of what he had done. "Care to join me in a search for some Tylenol?" she asked as she gently ran a hand over the back of his head where he had landed.

"Your head hurts?" he said with concern.

"Yeah. And my eyes, and my lungs. That stuff really pulls a number on you," she said. She caught the worried look in his eyes. "It's normal, trust me. It'll be gone soon. Come on."

She nodded towards the door and led him out. After locating the pain killer and following it with some fresh coffee in the kitchen, Jordan told Woody that she wanted to take one more look at the crime scene. Woody seemed reluctant to let her anywhere near the place.

"Jordan, this guy targeted you. It's pretty clear that this crime is no longer centered around my uncle," Woody told her.

"And if we don't find the evidence to catch him, who's going to?" she asked him seriously. She decided to play on his righteous side. "Are you going to let this guy go free?"

The question had the desired effect. His face took on that stern look that told her he was going to stop at nothing to solve a crime. His blue eyes held hers, studying the look on her face. She had invested herself fully in this case, to the point of risking her life. That was the Jordan that he loved; the one who became so committed to something that wild horses could not drag her away. He wondered briefly if, this time, the case went hand in hand with them – their relationship…him.

"Okay," he gave his permission. "Let's go."

Jordan practically jumped up out of her seat and very nearly left him sitting there in her eagerness to leave. Woody had to rush to catch up with her. The sky outside was dark with threatening clouds. He pulled his jacket a little tighter around him against the weather, but Jordan did not seem to notice the chill. They walked quickly across the hundred or so yards that separated the main house from the guest house.

"What's the hurry?" he asked her as they walked.

"Just a hunch," she said in a non-committal way.

The cop on duty at the house let them in so that Jordan could have a look around. Woody stood on the porch as she stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips, peering with deep concentration at everything in her line of vision. It was the exact spot she had been standing in when she opened the flower box.

"I swear, when I opened the door yesterday, I thought I saw…" she trailed off, frustrating Woody. She looked beyond him, just to his right, and her eye caught a scrap of grey-blue that didn't quite match the paint of the wooden porch supports. "That."

Woody followed her gaze as she walked past him and over to the railing. Opening an evidence bag and retrieving the tweezers that were inside, Jordan pulled a scrap of fabric from where it had been snagged by splinters. She dropped it in the bag satisfactorily and held it up for Woody to see.

"Look like hospital scrubs to you?" she asked.

"Pretty damn close," Woody said in amazement.

"What person has easier access to anesthetics than someone who works in a hospital," Jordan thought out loud. In the dim light that managed to work through the clouds, something glinted against the fabric. "And what do we have here?" she looked closely at the bag. "Blonde hair."

"Good catch," Woody complimented her. "I don't know how the hell we missed this before."

"They were so concerned with keeping everything clean inside, they forgot about the outside," Jordan said. "As did we."

"They?"

"This hair is pretty long to be male," she said. "We won't know for sure until we get to the lab."

"Assuming there were two of them," Woody started, "how could they be careless enough to leave something like this? And how did it get there? People don't go around leaving shreds of clothing behind them."

"Okay, let's say the killer began his attack out here," Jordan suggested. She placed a hand on either side of Woody and moved him in front of the support post. "If you attack me, I'm going to try to fight you off, right? So I shove you against the railing, and the rough wood rips a piece of out of your clothes."

"Explain to me why I'm wearing scrubs to commit a murder," he tested her. Jordan thought for a second.

"Because…it's an easy clean up, nobody will question bloody scrubs," she said logically.

"Okay. All right, even if that did happen, I think I would have noticed my clothes were ripped. If I'm calm enough to clean the whole crime scene, I should be able to realize there's evidence sitting on the front porch," Woody said. Jordan bit her lip in thought. Getting an idea, Woody took hold of Jordan and switched places with her. "What if it wasn't before the murder? What if, like you said, there were two people in on this? As they're leaving, the girl, or whoever, starts to freak. I push you against the railing to get you under control, and in the process leave the only evidence behind. Your panicking distracts me from realizing it."

Jordan's eyes glinted with approval. She smiled at him.

"Works for me," she said. "Let's get this stuff over to the morgue and see what we can prove."

The clouds that had been threatening rain began to open up as they reached the morgue, starting a steady shower that didn't appear to want to lighten any time soon. They rushed inside under the cover of an umbrella. Mike was waiting for them outside the trace room with a file and a brown package in his arms. Woody had called him just before leaving to ask for him to bring over the lab results on the roses, as well as a standard issue scrub set from the hospital.

"Here are the scrubs," Mike said as he handed them to Jordan. He then gave the file to Woody. "Results on the roses. Almost lethally covered with ethyl chloride, according to the chemist who ran it."

Woody nodded gratefully, and instinctively placed a hand on Jordan's back as they walked into the room. He had to remind himself that she was fine, but hearing those words coming from Mike were enough to scare him all over again.

"I also took a look into the orders in all the florist shops here over the last week," Mike told them. They looked at him expectantly. "Nothing for a dozen pink roses. Several for red, and one for four dozen pink, but not an exact order of one dozen. And no one had anything sent over to David's place."

"It could have been him," Jordan said, realization hitting her. "He could have been standing right in front of me, and I didn't even know it."

"Don't think about it," Woody told her comfortingly. "It's over. We have to think about catching him now."

Jordan nodded and opened the package to pull out the set of scrubs. She cut a square of fabric out and ran it through the equipment to bring the weave pattern up on the screen. Doing the same with the fabric from the porch, she pulled the two up next to each other.

"They look exactly the same," Woody commented, not quite able to believe they had managed to find this.

"Same dye, too," Jordan added.

As the three stared at this new discovery, thunder boomed outside, startling them. The florescent lights in the morgue flickered once. Mike looked up at the ceiling.

"Storm's getting worse," he said.

"Does this place have a back up generator?" Jordan asked in concern.

"Yeah, but I wouldn't count on it to support all of this," he told her, referring to the numerous pieces of equipment she had brought with her.

Jordan snapped into action, running the blonde hair through the system. The DNA came up as female. She hesitated before taking the next step. She meant to trace the DNA to female workers at the local hospital, but in doing so she would be breaking a few rules about the laws of trace. Doing that in front Mike caused her to think twice. Another boom of thunder sounded, and she decided this might be her only chance. Maybe he wouldn't notice.

Quickly locating the hospital files online, she began to run them against the DNA she had. It seemed to take forever before the computer finally beeped to alert her to a match. She willed the computer to work faster. A picture began to load onto the screen, starting at the top. Jordan noted the blonde hair, and a second later the power surged and caused everything to flicker. Things didn't return to normal quite as quickly this time. Jordan looked up at the ceiling along with Woody and Mike.

"Ohhhh, no you don't," she warned the power system.

The image returned to the screen, slightly distorted. It had loaded down to the eyebrows of the woman, just barely touching her eyes.

"Come on," Jordan muttered worriedly.

They heard a loud pop from somewhere in the building, and the room went dark. Jordan groaned and put her face in her hands.

"Great," Woody echoed her irritation. He reached for his cell phone and flipped it open to provide some light.

"Go on out to the lobby," Mike told them. "I'll check out what the generator situation is."

They parted, and Woody led Jordan down the hall to the front of the morgue. The light coming through the windows was dim, and they could see the rain coming down steadily outside, swept at an angle by the wind. Jordan let out an agitated sigh.

"Have I mentioned that I hate storms?" she grumbled. "Cause I do."

"We managed to get a lot before the power blew," Woody tried to lift her mood. Even in the dull light he could see her roll her eyes. He sighed as well. "You're right, this bites."

They stared out the lobby windows, waiting for something to be done about the back up generator. A few people dashed down the street, seeking shelter under overhangs or in shops. After a couple minutes, Woody caught sight of Jake Sutton walking down the sidewalk on their side of the street. He walked arrogantly slow, as though he were above the storm and everyone else trying to escape it. Something snapped inside of Woody. His anger boiled inside him, and he pushed through the front door out onto the sidewalk, ignoring Jordan's surprised questions.

Jake looked taken aback as Woody walked determinedly towards him, a look of loathing clear on his face. Jordan followed him outside, but stopped in the shelter of the overhang when she registered what Woody was doing. He grabbed Jake by the collar of his jacket and pulled him over to a car parked alongside the street, pinning him against it. Jake may have appeared bigger than Woody, but the years working for the Boston PD gave Woody a tremendous advantage in strength.

"Did you send her those flowers?" he shouted at Jake, roughing him up a bit to emphasize his words. "Did you do that to her, you son of a bitch!"

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about!" Jake yelled, trying to release Woody's grip on him.

"If I find out that it was you, you better hope I don't feel the need to shoot you when I arrest you!" Woody barked forcefully.

"You've lost your mind, man," Jake said. A disgustingly confident grin appeared on his face. "Why would I bother sending her flowers? You know as well as anyone that women beg to sleep with me after spending ten minutes with you."

Woody slammed him against the car and glared at him. "You stay the hell away from her," he warned him menacingly.

He let the warning hang in the air for a moment before releasing his grip on Jake's collar. Jordan stood silently on the sidewalk, her arms crossed nervously over her chest. She wasn't sure what to do with herself as she watched the confrontation. Woody turned away from Jake and walked towards her through the rain. He looked at her with an expression that sent shivers through her body. He was claiming her. She was his. She knew it from the intensity in his blue eyes.

Despite the mesmerizing moment, she vaguely registered the movement behind Woody. It took her half a second to realize what it was.

"Woody!" she shouted, pointing behind him at Jake tearing away from the car and hurtling himself towards Woody.

Woody turned just in time to brace against Jake's running start. Jake threw his arms around Woody's torso and tried to bring him down to the ground. Finding his footing on the slippery cement, Woody attempted to pry Jake off of him before finding an opening to slug him in the stomach. Jake backed off long enough to recover his breath, but quickly took a swing at Woody. He ducked it and tried to grab hold of one of Jake's arms to pin him.

Jordan stood in shock, unsure if getting in the middle of this would be helpful or harmful. Thankfully, she didn't have to contemplate this for very long. Just as Woody managed to get Jake in a head lock, Mike came flying out of the morgue. He pulled the two men apart easily, pushing Jake into the hood of a car and physically dragging Woody away.

"What the hell is going on!" he yelled at them. Neither answered. Mike glared at Jake. "Did you start this?"

"No, he came after me like a lunatic," Jake snapped.

Mike turned his attention to Woody, who was staring angrily into space, pulling his breathing under control.

"Woody, I don't care if you are my friend, I will throw you into a cell if you cause trouble in my town," Mike said firmly. Woody didn't say anything. Mike looked back at Jake, who was rubbing the back of his neck. "You want to spend another night in jail?"

"No," he said angrily.

"Then get the hell out of here," Mike advised him. After Jake was down the street a safe distance, Mike released Woody from his strong grasp and game him a push towards Jordan. "Get him home and calm him down," he told her.


	14. Lightening

**Lightening**

"I can not believe that bastard ripped my jacket," Woody said vindictively as he fumbled with the keys to let them into the house.

"You get into a fight not even four months after having major surgery on your spine, and you're worried about your jacket?" Jordan asked incredulously.

"It's a nice jacket," Woody argued, finally managing to open the front door.

"Reevaluate your priorities, farm boy," Jordan told him as they stepped into the house. Woody reached for the light switch on the wall and flipped it up. When nothing happened, he tried a few more times. The house remained dark except for the grey light coming through the windows.

"Power got knocked out here, too," he said, stating the obvious. He removed his wet jacket and looked at it sadly. Jordan rolled her eyes.

"Oh my God, give me the jacket," she said, holding her hand out. Woody handed it over, and Jordan looked at the shoulder seam that had been torn apart. "This isn't that bad, I can fix it."

"Excuse me?" Woody asked, confused.

"I can sew this back together. I thought I saw a sewing kit in my room the other day," she said, giving the rip one more look. Woody stared at her like he'd never seen her before.

"I never pictured you as the domestic type," he said, quite surprised.

"Well after a year in home-ec class in high school, something had to stick," she stated, turning to go upstairs.

Once in her room, she changed out of her damp clothes and slipped into a pair of grey pajama pants, a tank top, and a knit cardigan. She retrieved the sewing box and went downstairs to find Woody encouraging a fire in the fireplace. The house was remarkably dark thanks to the continuing storm outside, and the flames gave off a bit of light in the living room. Jordan settled herself on the sofa and set to work on the jacket. Having successfully started the warming fire, Woody took the opportunity to go upstairs to change into dry clothes as well, and by the time he returned Jordan had sewn half the damaged area on his jacket.

"I still don't believe you know how to sew," he said, kneeling in front of the fireplace to add another piece of wood.

"It's not too different from suturing a body, actually. And I've done my fair share of that," she said. Woody grimaced.

"Please don't make that association again," he begged her, sure he would never be able to look at a sewing machine the same way again.

"Never," she smiled. It never ceased to amuse her how squeamish he got about autopsies or anything to do with them.

They fell into a comfortable silence for several minutes. The only sounds in the room were the pop of the firewood from the flames and the rain drumming against the house. Woody stared into the fire, baffled at the ease of the moment, as if two days ago they hadn't been at each other's throats. He glanced at Jordan, bathed in firelight, mending his jacket as though she did this every day of her life. He could get used to that sight.

Woody never thought he would find his ideal in Jordan. A hot romance, yes. But everything he could ever be satisfied with? That came as a surprise. Jordan, as much trouble as she was, inevitably brought him his sanity. This trip had done everything to prove that to him. Without her, he became something to loathe, and pity. She could bring him back. Even now, in the midst of his chaos, she saved him from his own destruction.

"All fixed," Jordan announced, breaking into his thoughts. She stood up and held the jacket out to him. "Try it on, make sure it's comfortable."

Woody stood and slipped the jacket on. It felt fine to him, but Jordan slid her hand along his shoulder critically, looking for a mistake. Not really seeing anything, she took hold of the lapel area and straightened the jacket out.

"I don't understand why you went and got in a fight like a high schooler, anyway," she said as she checked her work. "I'm hardly worth the effort," she added with a smirk.

Woody backed out of her reach and looked down at the fire, trying to sort out what he was feeling.

"Do you really think that about yourself?" he asked her quietly.

"I've always thought you could do better than me," she said after a moment. "I never wanted you to actually succeed…but I thought it. I guess that's selfish. I'm sure you would have been better off staying here – never getting involved with me."

Shaking his head in frustration and regret, he said, "You don't get it, do you? Don't you see what this place…? These people…" He trailed off, pressing the palms of his hands against his eyes to stop the onslaught of tears that were threatening him. The last thing that he wanted was to break down in front of her.

"Woody," Jordan said gently, stepping closer to him. She ran her hands up his forearms, taking hold of his hands and pulling them away from his face. His eyes were brimming with moisture, dark as the storm outside. "Hey…talk to me."

He took a deep breath and looked at her, feeling her hands holding his so tightly.

"I hate what I am here, Jordan. I moved to Boston to get away from it. I should have known better than to think I could change that much…it blew up in my face four months ago."

"Woody, you were going though something horrible. Nobody could blame you," Jordan tried to console him.

"That day in the hospital, Jordan…that wasn't the first time I've behaved like that," he told her solemnly. "I've destroyed relationships that way before…forced someone to walk away because I couldn't fix what was wrong." He stopped, swallowing hard as the memories returned to him. He had been locking this away for so long, determined to become a different person. It was hard to tell her this. But if he couldn't tell Jordan, who could he tell? "You survive your problems. They fuel your will to live. I…walk away from mine. Because if I try to deal with them, I will destroy myself, and I'll bring everyone else down with me. I left to escape it all, to escape what I was turning into. Boston was my new beginning. And I wanted you to be a part of it."

"Boy did you pick the wrong girl," she smiled a little at him, reaching up to wipe away a stray tear that had fallen from his eyes. He gave her a small laugh.

"It worked, for a while. You became my reason for changing."

"And then?" she asked, her brow down in concern.

"And then…my past ran up and bit me in the ass," Woody said. "I turned back into the person I hated."

"Woody," Jordan said firmly. "This is not you. Ever since the shooting, the person I've seen is furious at life…and bitter, and alone. And it's _not you_. The Woody I know isn't like that."

"How do you know, Jordan? How can you be sure I'm not doomed to follow their fate?"

Jordan looked at him in confusion. He glanced away from her, grief and shame pulling at him.

"My father, David…Cal. How long before I end up like one of them?"

"You are not them, Woody. Do you understand me?" she told him firmly, placing a hand against his face to make him look at her. "You are good, and kind, and passionate and a million other things that make you so much better at the battles in life. What happened to them is not your fault, and you are way too strong to let yourself end up like that. I know you. You're my best friend. You're…unbelievably wonderful."

_You're the man I fell in love with_, she added to herself, unable to say it aloud. His blue eyes on her caused the words to catch in her throat. He looked like he was searching her face, looking for the truth in what she was saying. She barely noticed him lean in closer to her until he was only inches away. She had never felt more nervous in her life, knowing with great certainty what was about to happen between them. Woody brought his lips to hers softly, almost tentatively, holding her face in one hand while the other slipped around her waist to draw her closer.

Jordan melted into his arms, matching the tenderness of his kisses. Part of her was giving off warning signals, telling her he was in too vulnerable a state right now. _But he reached for me…I've wanted that for so long_, she argued. This argument won out as Woody's hands began to explore her body, questioningly at first, and then more boldly when she gave him no protest. Jordan felt her senses coming alive as he deepened their kisses, his fingers gliding along the skin underneath her shirt. She slid her hands along his chest and under his jacket, slipping it off of him and dropping it absently to the ground. Woody returned the favor by taking hold of the zipper of her cardigan and pulling it down, removing the garment. He dropped his mouth to her neck, eliciting a slight gasp from her as she gripped his shoulders tightly. _God, he's well built_, she thought, tilting her head to encourage his actions.

"Do you…?" he trailed off breathlessly, momentarily lacking the talent for speech and hoping she would understand him. His body flush against hers left little to her imagination about where he hoped this would go.

"Yes," she murmured. "Whatever it is, just…yes."

Woody led her upstairs. Jordan couldn't tell which was louder, the pounding of their hearts or the rain crashing into the roof above his bed. The storm outside seemed to be echoing the fervent rhythm between them. Woody's touch made her deliriously elated – every repressed emotion she had ever felt for him bursting into her mind until, for the first time in years, she was blissfully ignorant of everything in the world but him. Lightening seared and lit up the bedroom, followed seconds later by the crash of thunder. Woody clung tightly to her.

"I love you, Jordan," he whispered in her ear. "Please…tell me this isn't a dream. Don't let things go back to before."

"It isn't," she said as she stroked his hair, tears of joy brimming in her eyes. "And I won't."


	15. Dare You To Move

**Originally, I wanted to have this story finished by today…but then I thought that after tonight, it might be nice to have a little fanfic fluff to look forward to, dontcha think? Happy season premiere day, everyone! Here's hoping things turn out for the best for our favorite couple.**

**Dare You To Move**

Jordan didn't remember falling asleep, but she knew that her last conscious thought was how wonderful it felt to be tucked against Woody's side. It must have been a euphoria induced sleep, but not very long, as daylight kept the room in grey shadows when her eyes opened.

She woke to find the bed empty.

Her heart skipped a beat. _Oh God, please let him just be in the kitchen making dinner_. Her mind racing, she pulled on a pair of jeans, her tank top, and her knit cardigan. The rain was still pounding on the roof of the house, and it was starting to get chilly. Slowly, she made her way downstairs, looking for any sign of him along the way. She didn't know what she would do if he had walked out on her for any reason. Her heart couldn't take being broken by him for a second time. Close to panicking, she finally spotted him through the front window, sitting in shelter from the rain on the porch swing. Jordan carefully opened the front door and walked outside, pulling the sweater closer around her.

"Hey, you okay?" she asked softly. He didn't answer right away.

"Did I just screw everything up?" he asked her quietly, his eyes glued to the porch.

"No," she said, stunned.

"If you think we made a mistake, just say it," he went on, his voice low and sorrowful.

"No, I don't," she insisted. He looked at her skeptically. "If I thought this was a mistake, I'd be on the next flight back to Boston and you'd be the one waking up alone in a cold bed," she told him, her voice full of hurt. He looked away from her, staring at the rain pouring down in front of him.

"Don't, Jordan," he warned her. "I need an honest answer from you. I don't want to go back to Boston and watch you pretend that this was a one time thing, or that it never happened at all."

It felt like someone had reached inside of her and ripped out her heart. He didn't believe her. He still didn't believe that she was finally giving herself to him, after all these years of guarding her emotions.

"When are you going to trust me?" she said, her tone nearing a pleading state. "When are you going to understand that this is what I want, that I lo-" she choked on the last few words, her emotions taking control of her voice.

Woody hated hearing that tone in her voice. He knew he was hurting her by saying these things. But there was still this part of him that was scared to death that once the plane touched down in Boston, she would slip from his fingers like silk and he would never be able to catch her again. Jordan had melted to him in a way that he had only dreamed of. It worried him that she had given herself to him without so much as a backward glance. Every time Jordan acted impulsively in that way, she inevitably jerked in the opposite direction when she realized what she had done.

"It's taken us so long to get here," Woody said, shaking his head slightly. "I don't want it to be for nothing."

"You're right, it has taken us a long time," Jordan said meaningfully. "Which is mostly my fault. I stopped things back in California because I didn't want things to end up…like this. I didn't want to end up hurting you, and I knew that I would somehow…I did anyway," she added helplessly.

"Would you stop acting like everything you touch turns to dust?" he lectured her. "For once, can you just accept that you're allowed to be happy?"

Jordan stared at him, silent for several moments. "Are you happy?" she asked him quietly.

Woody stared ahead of him, his face softening ever so slightly. Sadness still played at his eyes, though.

"You're all I've wanted for four years," he told her.

"What does that mean?" she demanded. "You finally got me, so…now the dance is over? Now it's okay for us to go our separate ways? I'm not buying that!"

"Jordan, that's not what I meant. That's not what I want," he said quickly, standing up and taking a step towards her. She put a hand out as if to stop him, backing away a little.

"Please, Woody, I just-" she bit off her words and looked away from him quickly, fighting back the tears threatening her eyes. She wiped at her eyes, trying not to let him see her lose control, staring fixedly at the rain. The sound of his footsteps brought him closer to her without her needing to look. She felt him tentatively brush her hair away from her face.

"I never want to stop dancing with you," he whispered. He was closer than she thought he was, and his breath landed gently against her cheek. "I just want us to be doing the same dance for once."

Jordan swallowed the lump in her throat as his arms made their way around her waist, holding her tightly. She closed her eyes and leaned into him, letting her arms encircle him as she let out a worried breath.

"You okay?" he asked her.

"Just hold me tighter," she said.

And he did. His arms enveloped her small frame and he hoped that he could make her understand that all he wanted was her…all he would ever want was her. It was why he had to be so careful with her, try so hard to put them on the same page. And why he needed her assurance that things that were said in the heat of the moment did not vanish when normalcy returned. As fragile as her heart was, his was equally as vulnerable. He did not want to hurt her any longer, but he had to know that he was no longer in danger of being hurt. Having Jordan relaxed into his tight embrace told him all he needed to know. She wasn't going anywhere.

"I'm sorry," he whispered tenderly. "This week has just been…"

"I know," she murmured against his shoulder. "I know." He kissed her softly on the top of her head and rubbed his hands along her arms.

"You should go inside, you must be cold," he told her gently. As if on cue, Jordan shivered against a gust of wind and nodded.

"You coming?" she asked when he didn't follow her.

"Yeah," he said. "I just need a minute." She gave him a questioning look. Placing a finger under her chin, he kissed her softly and said, "We're good. I promise. Go on in."

Jordan gave him a grateful smile and turned to go inside, closing the door behind her. Woody took a deep breath and let it out. That was a conversation they probably should have had before things had taken the turn they did. It would have made everything less complicated. But, as was always the case, simple was a word that did not seem to be in their vocabulary. And dealing directly with the demons haunting their relationship instead of tiptoeing around them like usual was anything but simple. Hard as it had been, he was glad they faced their problems…he had found the courage to be honest with her, and she didn't shrink away from him this time. She fought…she fought for her emotions, fought for them.

Feeling that he had collected himself, Woody turned and reached for the doorknob. The door wouldn't open. He tried again and pushed forcefully against the door. It was locked.

"Jordan?" he shouted, feeling that something wasn't right. He couldn't see her through the window, couldn't hear anything from inside the house. He felt his stomach turn, and he heaved himself against the door to try get to her.

* * *

Jordan could hear Woody's attempts to break through the front door from her current position in the dark hallway upstairs. It surprised her that she could hear anything other than the racing of her heart ringing in her ears as she tensed against the cool metal of Woody's gun pressed against her throat.

"Don't even think about calling out to him."

The man's voice was low and raspy, with an irritating quality to it that sent chills down her spine. He had her pressed against the wall, facing him, her body pinned by his. He had appeared so quickly out of the shadows that Jordan hadn't gotten a good look at his face. Part of her was thankful for that. She didn't want to have to remember his face. Her mind worked at lightening speed, trying to think of anything to say to get her out of this situation.

"What are you doing this for?" she said, trying to distract him. "You don't even know me, why bother with me?"

"Shut up," he said harshly in her ear, shoving the barrel of the gun into the soft tissue below her jaw. Jordan sucked in a breath and winced. "It doesn't matter who you are. All that matters is that you're important to him…and I can take that away."

The words took on an eerily confident air as he brought his face close to hers, pressing her harder into the wall. For the first time, Jordan realized that more than her life might be in danger. She wanted to cry as the man slipped his hand under her shirt and pushed his hips against hers, his intentions with her becoming frighteningly clear. Jordan closed her eyes, waiting desperately for a moment when she could fight back, and preparing to let her mind go numb should the moment never arise. _Woody, please…please, find a way…_

The sound of shattering glass answered her silent prayer. It was enough to stop this man, though for how long she wasn't sure. He pulled away from her and grabbed her arm, wrenching her away from the wall. He turned her so that her back was to him, his arm wrapped roughly across her chest, leading her into Woody's room and kicking the door shut. The sound echoed through the house, and Jordan could hear Woody hit the stairs running.

"Jordan!" his voice called out, sick with fear.

The thought that this man was holding Woody's gun against her head flashed across Jordan's mind, and the consequences of Woody bursting in here unarmed left her terrified. Unable to warn him, she could only stand there, frozen with fear, as Woody flung the door open. She saw his eyes go wide in horror when this man pulled the gun away from Jordan and turned it on him. Woody nearly fell backwards against the doorframe, sliding down a few inches and holding his hands up in the air. For several agonizing seconds, the room was silent, Jordan's eyes locked on Woody, and his on the gun - his gun - pointed straight at him.

"There's no need to do this," Woody's voice came out much calmer than he felt. He had a hard time believing his own words. He no longer felt they had the power to change situations like this. "Please…just let her go. We can all walk away from this."

"You don't remember me, do you Hoyt?" the man said with disgust. Woody glanced at him blankly, having a hard time registering anything other than the gun. "Peter Anderson…the only student in school who had a harder time in life than you."

The wheels in Woody's mind turned furiously, putting it all together. Peter Anderson. The classmate his friends had told him about in the bar not four nights ago. Hospitalized for a nervous breakdown. Sent to live with his sister…a registered nurse. His mind worked to get a grasp on this, all the while focused on the fact that Jordan was still trapped in his arms.

"I don't understand, Peter," Woody tried talking him down. "What do you have to gain by doing this? Just let her go, she's nothing to you."

"I have everything to gain by doing this," Peter growled, returning the gun to Jordan's temple. Hot tears slipped down Jordan's cheeks, and she blinked to clear her vision. She could see Woody straighten a little, his hands still in the air. She had never seen him look so scared and so determined at the same time.

"Why David?" Woody kept trying, stalling for time. "What good did it do?"

"It brought you back here. Having her life in my hands is an added bonus," he said, his grip tightening on Jordan and his body stiffening as he watched Woody slowly stand upright. "I knew you would have to come back. And then I could finally get you back for what you did!"

"Tell me what I did, we can work this out."

"She moved away because of you, you bastard!" Peter shouted. The barrel of the gun pressed harder into Jordan's skin, and the distinct click of a gun about to be shot sounded like an explosion to her.

"Let her go, Peter, and you will walk away from this far better off than if you don't. Don't make things worse than they already are," Woody said firmly. He would be damned if he lost Jordan this way…not after all they had been through. He wouldn't let it happen.

"You shut up!" Peter yelled, angrily pointing the gun back at Woody.

Jordan's eyes locked with his. In that one second, something passed between them, and she knew she had to do something, anything, to end this. Before she could think twice, she flung her fist up into Peter's arm as hard as she could, taking him by surprise. His arm flew up, and a gunshot rang in the room. Woody's heart jumped at the sound, his body involuntarily shaking. It only took a moment for him to realize that the shot had gone into the ceiling as pieces of wood and dry wall fell to the ground. Flying into action, Woody ran at Peter's still upturned arm and grabbed the gun, twisting it mercilessly out of his grasp. Jordan loosed her elbow into his gut, hurtling herself away from him when his arm released her.

In the next second, Peter sat hunched over on the ground, moaning from Jordan's attack. Woody stood over him, his gun aimed for a lethal shot. Jordan stood slightly behind him, and couldn't help but notice that he held the gun with a steady hand. His chest was heaving, and there was sweat pooled on his skin…but his hand was steady. Her mind slowed down enough to allow for the thought that Woody was going to be all right.

Distantly, they heard the sounds of sirens approaching. Peter looked up at them, his body twitching as though he were thinking of fleeing.

"Don't even try it," Woody warned him threateningly, and Jordan heard the click of the gun being readied. "I sent an officer for the entire police force."

As soon as the police arrived at the house, they arrested Peter and took him to be interrogated. Woody told them to locate Peter's sister, telling them that she was likely an accessory to the murder, if not the actual murderer. Jordan was pulled aside to be interviewed, but Woody didn't let her out of his sight for even a second. During this time, the power was restored to the house, setting the lamps alight in the growing darkness of evening. When Jordan was done, they went to pack their things, planning on spending their last night at the Inn under the constant watch of an officer.

Woody had barely bothered to unpack, so it took hardly a minute for him to gather his things. As he left the room, he looked cautiously at the bullet hole that had been torn in the ceiling. He thought he could still feel the searing pain in his abdomen from months ago. _It's over now_, he thought. _It's time to move on_.

Seeing that Jordan's door was open, he knocked softly just to let her know he was there. She jumped a little, but relaxed when she saw that it was him. Alone for the first time since all of this had started, Woody felt a surge of emotion at the sight of her. It hit him all at once how close he was to losing her. Not saying a word, he walked over to her and took her in his arms, holding her like he would never let her go. Jordan let out a small gasp, slightly startled.

"Woody, it's okay," she smiled against his shoulder. "We're safe."

"I'm never letting you slip away from me like that again," he promised her. His words tumbled out of his mouth, referring to many things at once. "I never should have let you go in the first place. I thought I could survive without you…I can't. The thought of what could have happened to you…"

"But it didn't," she told him. "You saved me."

"No, Jordan," he said, burying his face in her hair. "You saved me."

* * *

Woody didn't bother asking Jordan if them sharing a room together at the Inn was all right. Not that he needed to. She was more than grateful to be close to him at the moment. It wasn't long before they heard from the police. Mike came over himself to tell them what they had found out.

A few details had been kept secret in regards to Peter Anderson's condition. The most important was that he was a diagnosed schizophrenic since the age of twenty. He had been unnaturally obsessed with Woody's old girlfriend, Annie, since their years in high school and kept a shrine to her until his sister found out and destroyed it. When Woody had been forced to end the relationship, Annie had moved away, married, and started a new life. Peter never got over it, his disease fueling his vicious feelings towards Woody. He blamed Woody for taking away his one chance at happiness in life.

Rather than tell anyone, Laura Anderson hid her brother's sickness and did her best to treat him herself. Last year, she finally had to admit him to a hospital. The time in treatment gave Peter the chance to plot his revenge for what he considered a horrible crime. He found out that Woody had been made executer of David's will, and knew that he would be forced to return to Wisconsin should anything happen to David. Using his sister's position as a nurse to get his hands on an anesthetic, Peter murdered David.

Just as Woody had suspected, Laura began to panic about what they had done. Peter threatened to kill her if she said anything. He watched Woody and Jordan closely from the beginning, narrowing his focus on Jordan when he saw hints of something more than friendship there. She became his intention for hurting Woody as much as possible.

They were both in custody now, and Peter was being treated for his condition. The confession came mostly from a distraught Laura, revealing years of disturbing behavior on the part of her brother. She had apologized over and over again for what she had been forced to do. Mike seemed just as shocked to be telling them this as Jordan and Woody felt hearing it. He left them assured that the Inn was being guarded very closely. Jordan sat down on the edge of the bed, completely caught off guard.

"I had no idea," Woody said, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Doesn't sound like anybody did," Jordan told him. Woody sat beside her, taking her hand in his. "Are you all right?"

"I will be," he said. "It's a little freaky finding out you've been the object of someone's homicide fantasy for years…all for breaking up with a girl."

"I guess you'll think twice next time you want to break it off with someone," she said, echoing his slightly flippant tone. He laughed softly at her, tightening his hold on her hand. He looked down shyly.

"I don't plan on there being a next time," he said seriously.

Jordan looked at him. He looked up at her from beneath his lashes, melting her heart.

"Good," she said, her voice silvered with contentment.

Woody pulled her down onto the bed so that she was tucked against him, their faces inches apart. She rested her hands against his chest, enjoying the way he placed a protective hand on her hip. He kissed her softly before reaching across her to turn off the lamp, coming to rest even closer than he was before. He gently brushed his thumb against her cheek, planting kisses along her jaw line before meeting her lips again. Jordan smiled into his kisses. She could get used to ending every day like this.


	16. Hit Me With A Hot Note

**As horribly frustrating as the premiere was, it was hands down one of my favorite episodes in terms of realism, character quality, and talent on the part of the cast and production crew. How is this show not nominated for more Emmy's? I…LOVE…how these people are flawed, and they spiral down from time to time. Yeah, yeah, perfect world would have Woody and Jordan reconciled…but where's the fun in that? Their issues make them great…although I don't see how she'll ever trust him again, lol! That's my little blurb about that.**

**Thank you for the reviews, always fun to get those. I got jealous of you East Coasters who were like, "Thanks for the update, ok, premiere starts in ten minutes, gotta go!"… meanwhile, here in LA, I had three hours to go! Oh the tortures of PST…**

**And finally, to RosHillCrosCreekgurl (I hope I got that right!): CJ is in season 5**

**Hit Me With A Hot Note**

Jordan woke up slowly, nestled comfortably under the covers of the bed. Her body ached happily as a result of a physicality from which she had been long removed. When she could no longer ignore the daylight peering through the window, she forced her eyes open. Squinting slightly, she brought a hand to her forehead and came in contact with a piece of paper. Her confusion lasted only a second before she laughed softly to herself, pulling the post-it note away from her skin. '_Don't go anywhere. I'll be back soon_.'

She fingered the note for a few moments, thinking about what she had gone through over the last four months with Woody. A lot of problems. Tempers. Longing. Lies, ignorance, running, accusing. All to end with three words from him… '_Don't go anywhere._' Four years ago – hell, barely six months ago – she would have taken one look at that request and her flight instinct would have carried her out the door. Someone asking her not to move? They might as well have asked her to stand still while a building collapsed around her.

Now, she simply did not want to budge.

Placing the note on the bedside table, Jordan rolled over to grope around the floor next to the bed for something to wear. Her hand located the white button down shirt that Woody had been wearing the night before, carelessly tossed to the ground. She slipped it on, buttoning it and rolling the sleeves back a little so that she did not feel like she was swimming in it. The smell of his cologne clung to the fabric, and it actually made her miss him, wishing he were there.

She sighed, deciding to pass the time by making a pot of coffee and nibbling on a banana nut muffin that Woody must have brought in for her. Just as she had poured herself a cup of steaming coffee, she heard the door unlock and Woody walked in. He did a double take and stopped in his tracks, eyeing her sitting by the window dressed in his shirt, her legs crossed elegantly. A pleased smile tugged at his mouth.

"That's a good look for you," he commented none too innocently.

"You think?" she smiled with a sparkle in her eyes. He walked over to where she was sitting and leaned down.

"Yeah, I do," he answered, bringing his mouth to hers for a kiss that ended all too quickly for Jordan's liking. He straightened and reached for a mug, pouring coffee into it and taking a grateful drink of the caffeine laced liquid.

"So I guess you'd prefer this to the red lingerie I have in my dresser at home," she said smoothly as soon as the mug hit his lips. Woody nearly choked on his coffee, sputtering and trying to recover. Jordan smiled with mischievous amusement at the look on his face.

"You…I never said…how long-" Woody coughed as he tried to get a coherent thought out, his brain overwhelmed by images of her in red lingerie.

"Relax, Woody, it's just lingerie. You've seen me in less," Jordan told him. This just caused him to turn slightly red. "Aww, there's the easily embarrassed farm boy I know and love."

"Thank you, for making me lose every decent thought in my head," he said sarcastically.

"Anytime."

"As much as I hate to ask you to do this, can you get dressed? I want to take you somewhere," he said with a regretful look at her attire. Her lack of clothing was a huge temptation at the moment. But they had an early afternoon flight back to Boston, and there was one last thing he needed to do before they left. Jordan complied with his request, only slightly confused when he told her to make sure to wear jeans.

She figured he would take her somewhere that she hadn't been, someplace special that had a meaningful story attached to it from his past. Looking through the car window with narrowed eyes, she wondered what he could be up to when the scenery was not unknown. She bit her lip as he pulled onto the road that led to the ranch, thinking maybe they had a few loose ends to fix on the case. They neared the guest house, and then drove past it. Jordan gave him a questioning look.

"What-?"

"Just wait," he told her, a smile in his eyes.

Woody continued driving another hundred yards of so and pulled up in front of a large wooden barn. It was in good condition, but obviously not new. Jordan had assumed that it was used for storage or some such thing. Following him inside, she realized she had been wrong. Along one wall stood seven or eight stalls in which were whickering horses, tails swishing flies away. On the other wall was a variety of horse tack, grooming equipment, and what looked like a makeshift office in one corner. In the middle of the barn, a good sized Palomino stood patiently, haltered to a post. Jordan slowed to a stand still as Woody walked up to the horse, running a hand along its nose.

"Uh, Woody," she started. "You better not be planning what I think you're planning."

"Why not?" he asked, adjusting a strap on the bridle.

"Because the last time I was on a horse was the pony ride at the fair when I was seven," Jordan told him, eyeing the animal warily. Woody turned to look at her with an expression full of confidence that she would do what he wanted anyway.

"Get over here, Jordan," he said, amused.

Jordan opened her mouth, then closed it again, rolling her eyes a little before giving in and walking towards him. He took her hand and moved her in front of him, placing her hand gently against the horse's soft nose. The animal nickered softly at her.

"This is Eiffel," Woody said.

"Like the tower?" Jordan asked with a smirk. She felt Woody chuckle.

"He's a twenty year old gelding, completely mellow, and incidentally the offspring of the horse I learned to ride on," he said, his hand guiding hers along the bridge of the gelding's nose up to its ears. Jordan automatically gave the horse's ears a scratch, and Eiffel leaned his head into her arm, his eyelids drooping happily at the contact. Jordan smiled. "You ready?" Woody asked her.

"You're not going to give me a choice here, are you," she said, though part of her was starting to like the idea.

"Nope."

He led her around to Eiffel's side, placing a mounting block on the ground. Jordan noticed for the first time that there was no saddle on the horse…they were going bareback. Taking a breath, she climbed up onto the block and, with Woody's help, lifted herself onto the horse's back. Woody placed the reins in her hands. He then grabbed a small box from a nearby table and slipped it into a pack which he slung across Eiffel's haunches, unhooked the halter from the bridle, and climbed up behind Jordan before the horse had a chance to go anywhere. Not that Jordan thought it would. Eiffel appeared to be the most easy going creature she'd ever seen.

Any nerves that she felt about being on a thousand pound animal quickly vanished as Woody settled behind her. His body acted as a frame to hers, his arms wrapping around her to place his hands over hers on the reins. She leaned into him, feeling that this wasn't such a bad idea after all.

They didn't say a word as Woody guided the horse out of the barn and out into the open landscape of the ranch. He gently ran his fingers over hers as they rode, holding her tightly so that she would feel secure.

"How're you doing?" he asked after a while.

"Better than I thought I would," she replied. "You really did this a lot as a kid?"

"Pretty often. My interest waned when I discovered girls."

"Which was when, the age of three?" she teased him.

"Give or take a few years," he joked back, and she laughed. "Yeah, too bad they didn't notice me until I was twenty five."

"They were idiots, then," she said firmly.

"You didn't see me when I was a kid," he said, his voice full of self doubt. Jordan turned her head slightly so that she could see him over her shoulder.

"I've seen glimpses of him. And it's nothing to be ashamed of," she told him. Woody gently brushed her long hair away from her face and kissed her chastely on the spot below her ear that made her shiver.

"Thank you," he whispered.

A few minutes later, he brought Eiffel to a stop in the middle of a large field. They could see the farmhouse off in the distance, and all around them was the wild growth of the countryside. Woody reached behind him and pulled the box out of the tan pack. He held it in his hands for a moment and looked at it critically.

"David's wishes were to have his ashes scattered on the ranch," he said, and Jordan suddenly understood why they had come out there. "The least I can do is honor that."

Woody opened the grey box and tipped it so that the ashes were caught up into the wind, carried away from them. He watched the sight, waiting for some sense of closure to hit him. He wasn't sure if that was what he felt so much as a sense of finality for bringing some justice to the crime. That part, at least, he could be proud of. Wrapping his arms around Jordan, he leaned his head against hers.

"My father died hating his brother," he said suddenly. Jordan's mouth dropped open a little, taken by surprise. "They hadn't talked for years when he was shot. I still don't know exactly what it was about. Something to do with my dad becoming a cop…walking out on the family business."

"Woody," Jordan said, uncertain of what to say to him. She felt awkward about being the one to bring up Cal, hoping that she wouldn't have to. His revelation shone new light on what this last week had been putting him through, not to mention the fact that Cal had not been heard from in the whole time since Woody had been shot.

"Funny how history repeats itself," Woody sighed, defeated.

"Doesn't always have to," she advised him. She felt him nod against her head, but he didn't say anything. She relaxed a little, knowing that his need to change past patterns would fuel any bit of recovery in his relationship with Cal. "Did you decide what to do with this place?"

"I'm gonna sell it," he said without hesitation. "I don't have a real reason to hang onto it. I don't belong here anymore. This town made me who I am…but I need to leave my past behind me now. Start worrying about my future instead." As he said this, he spread his fingers over her belly, rubbing his thumb against the fabric of her shirt. The simple gesture was probably subconscious…but it still sent a thrilling chill down Jordan's spine, catching her breath with a satisfying feeling of hope.

* * *

Arriving before the rest of the morgue staff was not unusual for Jordan. What was unusual was the reason she had decided to show up early. The whirlwind of the last several days had prevented her from calling anyone…particularly, calling Nigel. Being accosted about details first thing in the morning was not a very attractive thought. So she snuck in early, keeping her windows shuttered off while the staff arrived. She wanted time to adjust before she had to answer questions. Her door opening startled her, and she looked up expecting to see Nigel. Instead, Woody stood there with a pastry bag in his hand and a grin on his face.

"God, I thought you were Nigel," she said in relief, placing a hand over her chest. "He's going to kill me for not calling him with an update."

"Still hiding out?" Woody asked as he walked over to her desk and placed the bag down. Jordan nodded and walked over to join him, leaning against the desk.

"I've managed to avoid everyone for two hours. We'll see how long that lasts," she said with an expression that said she wasn't looking forward to being discovered. Woody stepped in front of her and placed a hand on the desk on either side of her.

"Incidentally, I have a message for you from the Boston PD," he said, leaning towards her. "They'd like to personally thank whoever it was who 'removed my head from my ass.' Apparently, I had a bit of an attitude problem for a while there."

Jordan couldn't hide her smile and laughed. "And they know it was me?"

"They have a sneaking suspicion," Woody said with a smirk. He met her eyes and his face became more serious. "I really do owe you a lot for what you did for me. Not just the attitude adjustment…"

"Well…you know me – stubborn as a mule," she said, trailing her fingers along the edge of his coat.

"Thank God," Woody smiled at her. "Honestly, I really began to think that we would kill each other in a week if we tried hooking up. But we almost destroyed ourselves trying to be 'just friends.' I don't know about you, but if I'm gonna go, I'd rather make love with you and die in seven days than spend the rest of my life without you."

Jordan's response to this was a single meaningful look before she leaned up to capture his mouth, her arms sliding around his neck. He lifted a hand to the small of her back, pressing her into the desk as he deepened the kiss. The sound of the door opening sent blood rushing up to Jordan's face, and Woody pulled away from her quickly…but not quite quickly enough.

"Jordan, how was-?" Nigel broke off as he barged in the room, his face changing from one of gossipy curiosity to shock in the span of a second. "…Wisconsin…"

At a loss for words, Jordan self-consciously straightened her shirt out while Woody tried to act nonchalant with his hands on his hips, shifting on his feet. A knowing smile snuck onto Nigel's face.

"I was going to ask how things went, but…well, they say a picture is worth a thousand words," he said with a raised eyebrow. He glanced at Woody, then back to Jordan. "Glad to see you took my advice, for once."

Nigel turned and left the office, pulling the door shut behind him. Jordan let out a breath, her face still warm from embarrassment as much as Woody's kiss.

"Well. That's out of the way," she commented.

"What did he mean by you taking his advice?" Woody asked suspiciously, though a small grin played at his lips.

"Um…nothing," Jordan waved her hand in the air to dismiss his question.

"C'mon, Jordan, tell me. What are you telling people about me?" he said as he cornered her against the desk once again, the grin full on his face now. Jordan tried not to smile, attempting to dodge his efforts at trapping her.

"Nothing decent enough for office talk," she teased him, and he lifted an eyebrow at her. "Look, why don't you get out of here while you still can, before the entire building knows what Nigel knows. Come by my place later."

"Fine," Woody smiled at her, giving her a quick kiss before walking towards the door.

"Oh, and Woody?" Jordan caught his attention, sitting on the edge of her desk and crossing her legs.

"Yeah?"

"I wasn't kidding about the lingerie," she winked at him.


End file.
